The Choices We Make
by Celestial Chaos
Summary: It's a dark road Sam takes to save his brother, and he'll do absolutely anything to get him back, even if it means giving into the demonic powers within him that threaten his very humanity. But a world without Dean is no world at all. Set after season 3.
1. Sam Tries to Deal

**Author's Notes**: So! This is my first foray into the Supernatural fiction world. It seems like a lot of the people in the fandom are really friendly and awesome, from the stories I've read and the reviews I've seen. I've always wanted to write in it ever since I first saw the show, but mostly I remained in my Harry Potter and Charmed fandoms, sticking to what I know best. Here, though, with the end of season 3, I feel like I've got a chance to really take things the way I envisioned them going. I'm no Kripke, but I'd like to think that I've got some interesting story lines, too. :) There will be all sorts of genres in here, just like the show. Moments of angst, anger, supernatural activity, adventures, etc. For those who aren't familiar with my writing style, I like to stick closely to the show's original style, but with a slight twist.

So, this story takes place just after _No Rest for the Wicked_. It will have intermittent spoilers for any episode before it, so if you haven't seen them, please read with caution. Normally I don't post my stories until I've finished them, but I wanted to get a feel for what people thought of it, since I like it, and thought others might, too. I have the entirety of it mapped out in my head and in an outline on paper, but it isn't all written out yet. As such, updates could be kind of sporadic, for which I apologize. I'm working on chapter five as we speak. But! I'm hoping that this story pleases people as much as it pleases me. So, please let me know what you think by leaving a review after you read. I'd really appreciate it!

Also, I don't own anything in the Supernatural universe. That's all property of the CW.

Now, on with the story!

* * *

It felt like hours had passed since Sam had begun cradling his brother's torn up, lifeless body in his arms. Though normally capable of handling much stress, they now seemed to ache and burn at supporting Dean's weight, as they had been for however long. But the pain was mostly dull. Nothing could really compare to the anguish that his heart was feeling at that moment.

He sniffled again, cheeks stained with dried tears crinkling up as he tried to keep the new ones from falling onto his brother's shredded shirt. He was failing—miserably at that—but it wasn't as if he could really stop them from falling. All he could do was think about the fact that his brother was no longer with him.

It had all happened so quickly—finding out that Ruby had been expelled from of her body, and that Lilith had taken it over in order to deceive them, thus leading to his brother's unnecessarily morbid death. Sam replayed for what felt like the millionth time the scene wherein she wandered over to the door and broke the barrier, allowing the hellhound inside so that it could rip his brother to shreds. And then there was the blast. That blast of bright, white light that had momentarily blinded him, making him simultaneously fear for his life and hope for the end of it.

Not that that even mattered much anymore, at this point. Life without Dean meant nothing to him. Now he had no mother, no father, though what hurt the most was that he had now lost his brother. His blood family was completely gone, and all he had left otherwise was Bobby. And really, Bobby was nothing to him right then. Nothing meant much of anything.

"Dean…"

Sam's throat was hoarse from all the yelling, the screaming and the crying. His fingers brushed over his brother's cooling brow, down along the side of his face, following the curve of his jaw. He had done this once or twice, just after Lilith had fled Ruby's body and he had begun cradling Dean's body. For some reason, it was comforting to him. He didn't know, nor understand, why.

He swallowed hard. A thick, malignant lump had formed in his throat, and he felt sick in his stomach every time he took too deep of a breath. It was from the tightening of his diaphragm, and he normally would have noticed that. Here, all he could tell was that his body hurt. No, _ached._

Feeling almost guilty, Sam finally laid his brother's body back down onto the wooden floor, his eyes fixated on Dean's lifeless, focus-less gaze. The little drops of blood that sprinkled the pale skin of his face had dried much like Sam's tears had, and they now looked like little black spots decorating his skin. Sam stared at them with abnormal intensity. Part of him wanted to pull them off; but just the same, another part of him wanted to not do anything…it simply wanted to fall onto the floor beside his brother, curl up with him, and hope that death would soon pull him under, too.

As he moved to do just that, Sam failed to catch the sound of the front door opening. Nor did he notice that someone was moving through the house, right toward him.

"Sam! What the hell do you think you're doin'?"

The harshly whispering voice belonged to none other than Bobby. It caused Sam to start, and, hastily wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hands, he moved to sit up. "Bobby?" His voice was gruff.

"You're damn right it's me. Now get up off that floor. We've got a lot of work to do."

At first, Sam didn't respond. He just looked at Bobby through tear-blurred vision, wondering why it was that he was speaking so callously. But when the older man moved closer to him, he sat up straighter and said, with anger building within him:

"Dean's _dead_."

"I know, Sam." Bobby's tone softened just barely, and briefly his eyes appeared like he might break, but they hardened almost instantly afterward. "But we gotta get him out of here if we're gonna do anything about it. With all the commotion going on in the streets, the police are bound to get involved, and that's the _last_ thing we need right now. So come on, let's go."

Everything felt surreal. For a moment, Sam squeezed his eyes shut. It was his hope that, in doing so, he would wake up from this horrific nightmare. When he opened them again, nothing had changed. Dean's body was still lying on the ground, as was Ruby's, and Bobby was hunched over him, looking him in the eyes. It reawakened the sickness he had felt before, and he almost wanted to throw up again.

"Come on, Sam," Bobby said, more seriously than before.

It took Sam a few seconds before he lifted himself up to his feet. Afterward, he looked from Bobby to the two bodies lying on the floor. Despite it all, he didn't want to leave Ruby's behind. He may have been angry as hell at her for not helping him with Dean, but she had extended the offer several times, and like an idiot, he had refused. He could only be angry with himself for what had happened. She deserved a burial, at least, if not something like it.

Damn his sentimentality.

His eyes lingered on Dean's body. That expression on his brother's face was burning itself into his mind, that hauntingly lifeless look that had not too long ago been filled with anguish and fear.

"I can't carry him," Sam suddenly announced to Bobby. "I just…can't."

A curious look lit up the older man's face, but he didn't question Sam's statement. Instead he just knelt down and hoisted Dean's body up and into his arms with a grunt of effort, moving past him. Once Bobby went by him, Sam knelt down just the same and picked up Ruby's body, straightening and tightening his grip on her once he stood up completely again. It was dead weight, what he was carrying, and his sore arms seemed to groan under it.

It wasn't until they were outside that Bobby realized what Sam had done. Confusion written all over his face, the hunter said, "Sam, are you _nuts_? Why're you bringin' her along with us? She's dead!"

"She deserves a burial," Sam said, voice somewhat distant.

It was clear that part of Bobby wished to protest against this, but for the sake of time, he didn't. Instead he walked with Sam toward the impala, where he slipped Dean's body into the back seat, followed by Sam placing Ruby's inside as well. It was an uncomfortable squeeze and the sight was something Sam would likely never forget. He used a large blanket that was bundled underneath the driver's side in order to cover them up. The last thing needed for some cop to pull them over, only to find dead bodies in the backseat.

"Gimme the keys," Bobby said. "We don't got a lot of time. I'll drive us somewhere safe."

Sam hesitated. He had taken the keys from Dean's pocket just shortly after the whole ordeal, stuffing them into his own so that they didn't get lost. He could feel them resting against his chest in the folds of his bloodstained jacket.

"_Sam,_" Bobby urged.

"No."

The answer was short, to the point. Most of all, however, it was unexpected. Neither of them—even Sam himself—hadn't anticipated such an answer, but there it was. Bobby looked somewhere between surprised and angry; Sam didn't care, though. All he wanted was to get out of there. He didn't know where he was going to go, or what he was going to do. He just needed to _go_.

"Gimme. Those. Keys." Bobby insisted, trying to block Sam's way to the driver's seat.

"_No_!"

For the first time, but what was certainly not going to be the last, Sam lashed out against Bobby, shoving the older man away. It sent the other stumbling back. That gave the younger hunter the chance to climb inside the driver's seat, shut the door and lock it behind him. When he put the key in the ignition Bobby slammed his hands against the window, shouting, but all Sam could hear was the thudding of his heart deep within his ears. Before he knew it his head was back against the seat and the car was thrown into reverse. Tires squealed, rubber was burned, and soon the impala was back on the road, its roaring engine drowning out Bobby's yells.

Sam drove for several silent-filled hours after he so abruptly left New Harmony. He sped across interstates and flew through towns like a bat out of hell, stopping for nothing and no one. There was no official destination in sight. He just needed to drive. It wasn't until sometime around eight that following morning that he finally stopped somewhere, too exhausted—both physically and mentally—to continue. He remembered the time vaguely, as it was the last thing he saw on the dashboard before he parked the car in an empty lot off the freeway, unbuckled his seatbelt and passed out in the front seat. This was also shortly after he had stopped to get gas.

Sleep didn't cradle him for long, however. Some hour or so later, Sam woke up, but without opening his eyes. For a moment, everything seemed calm. His wiped out brain lazily created the illusion and feeling that he was simply lying in a slightly uncomfortable bed in a motel room in some Podunk city, with Dean snoring in the bed beside him, and he was content with that. Perhaps too content.

But eventually he had to open his eyes, and the whole delusion crumbled around him. The sky he stared at through the windshield was overcast, and the bed he had been resting on was once again just the front seat of the impala. Almost regretfully he cast a glance over the seat. Sure enough, there was the blanket, underneath which was the obvious.

This was all still very, _very_ real.

And it still hurt worse than anything Sam had ever felt before.

He moved to sit up, his arms resting on the wheel as he cupped his face in his hands. The sigh that escaped him was heavy, just like his body. He needed to figure out what he was going to do…how he was going to fix this. Without a battle plan, precious time was wasted, and that meant more senseless torture for Dean's soul. Not to mention the further decomposition of his brother's body, which he couldn't allow.

Sam could feel his own producing more adrenaline, which caused his heartbeat to increase. It revived the sickness that had settled in the pit of his stomach.

Somehow, he needed to preserve Dean's body. He couldn't just let it bleed dry and then rot to death. Saving Dean's soul meant nothing if there wasn't anything to return it to. In his near delirious state of mind, the first thing that came to Sam was formaldehyde; the chemical would preserve his brother's flesh perfectly until it was needed again. But he soon rejected that idea, knowing that it would do far too much harm to the both of them. The only other thing that made any sense to him at that moment was putting the body on ice. But where in the world was he going to find a freezer? Let alone one that could hold Dean's remains?

This was all too much thinking for Sam at the moment. He groaned quietly, dejectedly, wishing that the fatigue he felt would lighten up, if just for a second, so that he could think clearly. His brother's future was dependent on it.

Perhaps out of frustration, or perhaps out of desperation, Sam turned his attention to the world outside of the impala. He had chosen the lot he was currently in while under the heavy influence of tiredness, and he realized then that he had absolutely no idea where he was. The last sign he remembered seeing was a state border sign, but the question was, into which state had he crossed the border?

He glanced over at the car nearby him. Given the way they were parked in the lot, he was able to see the license plate. It took him a moment, and a few slow, full blinks, but he soon identified it as Pennsylvanian. They had one of those license plates resting in the trunk of the impala. Had he really driven that far? For some reason, the ride had felt much, much shorter to him. Then again, everything over the past day or so was completely distorted in his head. He couldn't trust what he felt, let alone what he thought he felt.

Rather slowly, it dawned on him. If he was in Pennsylvania, then he wasn't that far away from New York. And in New York, his father had that weapons cache. It had been large. Large enough to possibly fit a freezer designed to keep a body on ice.

Had Sam any lick of sensibility left in him then, he would have known just how far fetched and absolutely horrible his idea was. But he was running on empty—_past_ it, even—and for now, that idea didn't seem half bad. If anything, it seemed _good_.

Anything to keep his brother's body safe.

Anything.

. . .

Sam carefully shut the lid on the freezer, watching his brother's close-eyed, expressionless face disappear beneath it, until he was gone completely.

He didn't know how he had done it. In fact, he wasn't really sure how he had done much of anything over the course of the last day or so. Everything blurred together in an unintelligible line of events that had eventually led to where he was standing right now. It hurt him to think that just twenty-four hours previous—hell, not even _that_ long—Dean had been alive and kicking, telling him to remember what their dad had taught him, what _he_ had taught him.

There was a tightening in his chest, and he instinctively reached up, gripping the muscle over his heart to alleviate it. The back of his eyes stung and his throat absolutely burned. Sam hadn't eaten or drunk anything since he couldn't remember when, but he had no appetite or thirst.

He just wanted to save Dean.

And to him, he was already halfway there. He had gotten the easy part finished by keeping Dean's body safe. Now came the hard part. Now, he had to figure out some way to get his brother's soul back.

When Sam got back into the impala after leaving his father's weapons cache, he sat in the driver's seat, staring out the windshield, but at nothing in particular. Little by little his focus continued to go. It wasn't until a few minutes later that he snapped out of the light daze he had slipped into. That was when he realized that right now, what he needed was to try and get some kind of sleep. It didn't matter how, and it didn't really matter where. He just needed it. _Badly._

Against his better judgment, the young hunter started up the engine again and pulled away from the lock-up. The motel he had stayed in from when he and Dean had come here together wasn't too far away, and through some miracle, he managed to drive himself to it without so much as a ding to the car's bumper. Upon his arrival he locked up the car—having unfortunately forgotten that Ruby's body was still inside—and headed inside the main building in order to check-in.

The middle-aged, somewhat balding man with light brown hair standing behind the counter had a smile on his face that was wiped away instantly at the sight of Sam's exhaustion. "Oh, man," he said. "You look like you could use some coffee. We've got some, you know, if you like." He gestured to his left, over toward a table that had a coffee pot, some throwaway cups and a pink box of assorted donuts sitting on top of it.

"I'd like to rent a room," was all Sam said in reply. He tiredly removed his wallet from his pocket and tugged out one of his many credit cards. He didn't notice that the man was staring at the dark stains on his coat. By now they looked more like set-in food stains, which, when combined with the tired look on his face and the altogether lack of energy, probably made him look like a bum.

"One bed?"

"Two," Sam said automatically. He hadn't caught his mistake. And thankfully, he had at least had the sense to check the name out on the bottom of his credit card before he handed it over, so he was able to properly write his signature on the credit receipt.

"You sure you don't want any coffee?" the man asked again. The sound of the television that hung in the corner filled the time in between what he said and the words that came out of Sam's mouth.

"What's my room number."

"Room 14." The man extended the key to Sam, who took it numbly.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem. Really, though…coffee's free. Help yourself."

Sam didn't respond. Instead, he re-pocketed his wallet and gripped the key in his hand with the remaining strength he had. As he headed out, he vaguely heard the ringing of the chime and the man saying, "Enjoy your stay."

Room 14 wasn't terribly far away, but it felt like it. Sam dragged himself toward it, going past room after room, door after door, window after window. They all looked the same. He would have missed his if he hadn't caught sight of the metal '4' outside of it sitting crooked, which focused his attention on the other number beside it. He struggled with unlocking the door for a few moments, mostly due to the fact that the key needed to be inserted in just the right way. When he heard the click he pushed his weight against the door in order to open it.

Much like the room he and Dean had stayed in, which had sported a rather eclectic style, the one in which he found himself now also had a strange assortment of furniture and colors. The curtains on either side of the large, rectangular window were a deep shade of bluish purple, with faded white lines running vertically along them. The carpet matched them, unlike the comforter of the two beds, both of which were a slightly lighter shade of blue.

It was in noticing the color of the comforters that Sam realized the error he had made in asking for two beds. It was just habit to ask for two—an ingrained action. This reawakened the hurt inside of him, and, coupled with his exhaustion, the younger hunter could do nothing else but move toward one of the beds, collapsing on top of it. With each breath his body felt heavier and heavier, his mind more and more tired. He was plagued with disjointed, scary thoughts and images, all of which continued to swirl around in his head until he finally couldn't take it any more. Sam lay there and fought back the urge to cry so hard that it actually started to hurt. When he finally gave in, it was that which helped him eventually fall to sleep.

Unbeknownst to Sam, that had been around two in the afternoon. His sleep had been luckily been free of nightmares or terrors, but that didn't mean that it had been particularly restorative. He was awakened just after eight that evening by an intensely gripping pain in the pit of his stomach. It caused him to stir on the bed, stretching out his sore, wound up muscles.

He needed to pee.

Unlike when he had passed out in the car, Sam didn't suffer from any delusions upon waking up this time. No, the truth was known to him, and he numbly accepted it. At this point, there was nothing else he could do. It was too early. He needed to find Lilith—needed to find _Ruby_, if she even still existed. Above it all, though, he needed to try and come up with some kind of plan. Still.

Sam sat himself up with a grunt of effort. He no longer felt as exhausted as he had, but he still had a long way to go before he was up to his usual sense of self. All of this mental trauma was having a serious effect on the way his body functioned.

He moved to stand, pausing a moment in order to find which direction the bathroom was. Afterward, he went inside and relieved himself. He went to wash his hands. That moment right then was the first time he had seen himself since this entire ordeal had taken place. Sam stared at himself in the mirror. He stared at the dark, puffy circles under his eyes, which were red from all the crying; he stared at the crease lines in his forehead; he even stared at his lips, which were slightly red from him chewing on them all throughout the car ride from Indiana to New York. They looked—and felt—tender.

He reached down and gathered some cool water in his hands, which he then splashed over his face. Droplets clung to his thin eyebrows and eyelashes, and for a brief moment, he felt mildly better. More awake. At some point, he knew he needed to take a shower. He was filthy, and both he and his clothes had a noticeable stench. For now, he was simply too tired to do it.

Sam dabbed his face with the dry towel hanging on the rack above the toilet, letting it fall to the counter afterward. His head was downcast when he stepped into the room, and he let out a long yawn.

"Good to see you're not as shaken up about your brother dying as I thought you'd be."

The sound of a voice was the last thing at all Sam had expected to hear, let alone one that said something like _that_. He let out a curse as he stumbled in his steps. He managed to catch himself by reaching out and grabbing hold of the small entertainment center that held a small, barely functioning television.

When he looked over at the individual who spoke, he didn't recognize her. Immediate alarms went off in his head. Demon! they said. Demon!

The thin-figured girl with shoulder-length, curly black hair and olive colored skin folded her arms over her chest. Her dark brown eyes focused on Sam intently.

"Who are you?" Sam almost barked. His voice was still somewhat croaky, and he swallowed, clearing his throat afterward. It burned a little.

"Who _else_ would I be?" the girl replied sarcastically. When Sam didn't respond, she stepped forward, and he immediately took a step back. His first thought was, where was Ruby's knife? "Oh my God," she continued, unfolding her arms and putting them at her sides. "You can't really be that dense, can you? It's _me_."

Sam watched in near horror as the girl's already dark colored eyes became completely black. But in a flash the darkness was gone, and the white around her irises returned. "Ruby?" he ventured carefully, almost hopefully.

"Ding ding," Ruby replied.

"But—but how…?"

"I'm a demon, Sam, not an idiot human like you. Lilith may have expelled me from my body, but that doesn't mean she killed me. She doesn't have the guts to do it."

Sam eyed the unfamiliar body of the one in front of him, his mind trying to make the leap to believing that it really _was_ Ruby. "If you're really her, then what do I have of yours?" It wasn't the best question, but it was the only thing his mind could come up with at that moment.

Ruby rolled her eyes. With a scoff, she asked: "You mean what of mine did you _steal_? My knife."

That was enough to prove the point to Sam. He relaxed some, not having realized how tense he had become over the course of those few short moments. He took a seat at the small table situated near the entertainment unit. Ruby continued to stand.

"I thought Lilith…" he began.

"We've been over that, Sam. She did. But, I found my way back. I'm actually pretty damn clever like that." Ruby moved closer, but took a side step toward the wall. "It's so damn dark in here. I'm turning on a light." When she flipped the switch the bulb above them flickered to life. The amount of light that emanated from it wasn't much, but it was enough for her, it seemed. "I went back to New Harmony to see if you were there, but you weren't. And neither was Dean's body, or mine. That old guy Bobby wasn't even there, either. At first I thought Lilith had killed you, but with no bodies…" She shrugged. "I wondered where you had gotten off to, so I just…came after you."

"How?"

"The same way I always have. And that answer is none of your business." Ruby's words were short, at least until she spoke next. And when she did, it was with something almost akin to curiosity. "Did Lilith take my body?"

"No," Sam said. "I…I was gonna bury it, but—"

Ruby looked appalled and cut him off before he could continue. "_Why_?"

"I thought you deserved it," Sam replied bitterly.

"I wasn't _dead_. Did she _say_ that I was?"

"No. Just that she sent you far, far away. How was I supposed to know what that meant?"

The dark haired girl sighed in near exasperation. Once again she folded her arms over her chest. "So do you still have my body, or not?"

"Yes," Sam said, swallowing. "It's in the car."

"Then I want it back."

Gesturing toward the door, Sam said, "By all means."

Without another word, Ruby quickly turned around and made her way out the door. A little bit after it was shut, Sam heard a horrific howling cry, which he suspected was her leaving the body of the girl she had possessed. Somewhere deep down he knew he probably should have gone out to make sure the girl was all right, but he did no such thing. Instead, he waited right in place for Ruby to come back. Not too long thereafter, she did just that—waltzing right back into the motel room as if nothing had happened. Sam's eyes caught sight of the space outside the door when she stepped inside again; he thought it strange that he didn't see the other body.

"What're you doing here?" Sam finally asked her bluntly, tiredly.

"Getting my body back, first and foremost," Ruby replied. She ran her hands over her wrinkled up shirt and brushed them over her pants. Then, straightening, she said, "And in all honesty, I wanted to see how you were doing."

Sam smiled sourly. "That's almost sweet."

Ruby rolled her eyes and pulled a face. "Ha, ha, Sam. Funny. You know what I meant. Not many people can say they've faced Lilith and have survived it. She must have been angry when she found out you weren't dead, because I _know_ she would have attacked you and tried to kill you."

"I wish she _had_ killed me," he muttered.

"Oh, get _over_ it. You don't have _time_ for a pity party if you're gonna try and survive what's bound to happen to you next." Ruby snatched one of the other chairs from around the table, turned it so that the back faced Sam, and took a seat in it, resting her arms on top of its head.

"And just what is that? _Demons_? 'Cause if so, I think I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't," Ruby disagreed, tone serious. "You have _no_ idea what's going to be coming after you now, Sam. If Lilith wasn't able to bring harm to you, she's gonna send every demon under her power your way to do it for her. And that's a _hell _of a lot of demons."

Sam sat quietly, eying Ruby, but not fully paying attention to what it was that she said. He scoffed. Then, he said disbelievingly: "Do you not get it? Dean's dead. _Dead_." Before he knew it, he was standing up again, moving past Ruby toward the window. "I don't _care_ anymore. I don't care about demons. I don't care about myths. I could give a damn about Lilith. All that matters…" He sighed, pausing to let his sore throat rest a moment. He turned back to look at her, fighting with what strength he had to keep his eyes from tearing up, _again_. "All that matters right now is finding some way to bring him back."

At first, Ruby said nothing. Her eyes rested on Sam, almost as if she were searching for something. "You really are lost without your brother, aren't you?" she asked, sounding genuinely incredulous. The look on her face matched it.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Sam admitted quietly with a shrug. "So sue me."

Ruby let out a short laugh, but it wasn't out of amusement, and rather out of spite. "If you had just listened to me in the first place—"

"Shut up."

The blonde paused for a second. "Did you just—"

"Shut. _Up._"

Ruby shot up out of her chair, bringing herself right up close to Sam. Anger flared in her narrowed eyes, and her lips were curled in a slight snarl. "You listen to me, Sam. I _tried_ to help you. I tried to help you _several_ times, and all you did was turn me away. Then, at the last second, you have the _audacity_ to summon me, asking for my help. So what do I do? Against my better judgment, I _try, _even when I know it's too late. And then what happens? _This_. If this is the thanks I get for trying to help you, then you can forget all about getting any more. I've been trampled on enough, and the _last_ thing I need is for your damn woe-is-me attitude to get me killed."

By the end of what Ruby said, Sam was gazing down at her with near malice in his eyes. But it wasn't malice toward her. No, it was toward himself. Everything that Ruby had said was completely true, and that made him angry. All that time, she had tried to help him, and what did he do? He treated her like shit.

And part of him couldn't help but think that he was now paying for it.

"So don't you tell me to _shut up_," she finished. "I have every right to be angry."

"You're right," Sam offered meekly, voice somewhat rough.

Obviously, Ruby hadn't been expecting that answer. A flash of confusion came across her face before it returned to irritated indignation. "What?"

This time, Sam said it clearer, and a little louder. "You're right."

Ruby remained silent for a bit. Her expression became almost thoughtful, but eventually it settled back onto the neutral, leaning toward angry, look that she usually wore. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Dean. I want to prepare you for what's coming."

"Why?" Sam backed up, lifting his hands in the air, almost toward his head. "What is the God damn deal with this war? And why do I have to be so prepared for it?" He could feel tiredness creeping up on him again, but he staved it off, turning to look at Ruby. "How am I even going to do that?"

"Sam," Ruby began, "do you remember when I told you that you could easily take out Lilith if you just worked on training your powers?"

"Yes. But I don't see—"

"If you want to help protect mankind, then you're gonna have to learn how to use 'em. Because without your powers, you don't stand a chance."

Sam sighed, long and hard. He rubbed his eyebrows and the area around his eyes until it almost started to hurt. He was confused. Tired and confused. First, Yellow-Eyes had told him that he was special—that he was going to lead the demon army on Earth. Then he found out that some higher echelon demon named Lilith wanted him dead with his head on a platter. Then he discovered that she couldn't kill him, and that he had the power to defeat her. Now, it was up to him to protect mankind.

It was all too much for one person to handle.

"I just want to save my brother," Sam finally said, almost pathetically. He was so tired.

"Look." Ruby put her hands on her hips, eying the tall hunter with scrutiny. "There was no way for you to break the deal with Lilith. Dean's soul…it was bound for Hell, anyway. But…"

The way she trailed off like that was cruel. Sam felt like a dog that had a piece of meat dangling in front of its face. Despite himself, he knew he was metaphorically jumping on his hind legs for it when he asked, "But what?"

Ruby said, "There _is_ a way to save his soul now that it's _in_ Hell."


	2. A Tentative Plan

**Author's Notes: **Wow! I was really impressed (and flattered, haha!) by the warm reception from everyone, as well as the positive reviews. It makes me feel really good to know that people are interested in what it is I have to offer, so I hope the story doesn't let down! I've received more notifications for people putting this story on alert in one day than I did any of my other ones, which I'm taking as a very good sign. ;)

So, here's chapter two! It's a little shorter than chapter one. And, you can expect most future chapters to hover around the length of this one, give or take some length for longer periods of dialogue.

Please leave me a comment after you read letting me know what you think :) They're always much appreciated! Enjoy!

* * *

Even though Sam had completely been expecting that answer, it still felt almost like a joke to him when he heard it. He looked at Ruby disbelievingly, and even let out a quiet chuckle.

"You're funny, Ruby," he said dryly.

"I'm not kidding," she stated flatly.

With that determined, the young hunter stared at the one across from him with a renewed energy that had seemingly come out of nowhere. He still felt unsure, but he couldn't pass up on learning more. Not if it meant saving Dean.

"Then how?"

"It's pretty simple, really." Ruby stepped back, then turned on her heel and headed toward one of the beds on the right side of the room. She plopped down on the one furthest from the entry door. "Have you ever heard of the ability to 'call' for someone, Sam?"

"No," Sam replied quickly, honestly.

"Anyone's capable of it. Even humans. But those with…well, some kind of extra magical _boost_ tend to do it better." She rested her hands in her lap. "Basically, it's where you focus on the person you want, and with enough practice and power, you can draw them to you."

"Do you mean physically, spiritually, or what?" To Sam, that seemed like a too-loose explanation that didn't fit what it was he was concerned with. Plus, it sounded evasive.

"It can be any of them, depending."

"So…what you're saying is that I can basically _call_"—he used air quotes—"Dean's soul to me, and I'll have it." He couldn't help but sound skeptical. Was she fooling with him?

"Not exactly." Ruby shook her head. "You need to be on the same plane, first and foremost. Or have some sort of gateway in order for one or the other to cross through. This can transcend distance, but not space, time or anything in between."

Sam snorted. "Sounds like a load of bull to me."

Ruby let out an annoyed sound. "Listen, Sam. If you don't want to hear what I have to say, then fine. Fuck Dean's soul, and fuck helping you. But if you want to save him, then just shut up for a second."

Now it was Sam's turn to be irritated. He, however, refrained from speaking, and moved back to the chair he had been sitting in previously, placing himself in it. He gestured with his arms for her to continue.

She smiled sardonically. "Thanks. As I was saying, it takes a lot of practice, skill, and power. The relationship needs to be strong. I can't think of any stronger than the freaky one you two share."

He chose to ignore that comment. "Do you really think it's possible?"

A considering look appeared on her face. "I can't guarantee instant results, but…"

For Sam, the ultimate point of everything was to get Dean back. And Ruby _had_ been trying to help him all along, for reasons he still wasn't entirely sure of. That, as well as why she cared to help him prepare to fight the demon army, and even to get Dean back. That was when he realized that he hadn't even asked her that simple question.

"Ruby." Sam blinked. "Why…do you care so much? Why do you want to help?"

Ruby didn't say anything for a moment. Then, as she stared out the window to her right, just a little quieter than before, she said: "It's like I told Dean. I may be a demon, but that doesn't mean I forgot what it's like to be human. And honestly, I don't want Hell on Earth." Her gaze turned downward. "I wouldn't wish that kind of life on my own worst enemy."

This moment was the only time Sam had ever seen her acting so humanely. She looked legitimately concerned, and her tone matched it. If she was acting, she was doing a damn good job of it…but he doubted she was. Why go through all the trouble? There was no reason.

"So…how do I learn to do this?" Sam spoke quietly, but with intrigue.

Ruby shot her focus to Sam. "Well, first, I want my knife back."

"Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_. Where is it?"

At the sight of Ruby preparing herself to get up, Sam extended a hand to get her to wait. She didn't move. "It's in the car. I'll get it for you, but first, just…tell me."

She sighed. "Fine. Basically, you're gonna have to learn to control the powers you've got inside of you. Yeah, I know, you don't want to. Yeah, I know, they're dormant. But that doesn't mean that you have a choice now, does it? Not if you want to save your brother."

It was like a screwed up catch 22, Sam thought. In order to save his brother, he had to do the one thing that they had both fought so hard to prevent. At this point, though, he was desperate. He would try anything to get his brother's soul back; to save him from the undoubtedly horrific torture he had to experience down below. Dean was depending on him. It wouldn't matter in the end how he got him…just that he did it. Dean would forgive him.

He wasn't giving up his life, after all.

"Learning how to use your powers will help you defend yourself against other demons, including Lilith," Ruby continued. "So there isn't much of a downside here. You just…you have to listen to what I tell you, all right?" Sam nodded. "Good. Then we'll get started on that as soon as possible. But for now…" She stood up, bringing a hand to her face and waving it from side to side. "Get a shower. You smell like death, and it's _really _disgusting."

. . .

Sam spent the rest of the night taking a shower, getting himself something to eat, and basically just trying to take care of himself. Ruby confessed to having something to do, which made him wonder, but she took her leave shortly after he got out of the bathroom, not giving him much time to question her on it. It didn't matter at this point, however; the peace and quiet was nice. Something he needed. Plus, he had a skeletal outline of _some_ kind of plan, and that was enough to put his mind partially at ease…or at least enough to allow him to eat without getting sick, and eventually fall asleep sometime past eleven.

He woke up sometime past seven o'clock that following morning. The electric green digits on the clock resting on the nightstand told him that. Normally he would have used his phone to check the time, but Sam realized in his light post-awakening haze that he must have left it in the impala. After all, it wasn't in any of his pockets, and it wasn't beside the bed.

With a faint yawn, he slipped out of the bed—still wearing the A-shirt and sweatpants from the night before—grabbed his keys from the table beside the entertainment center, stepped into his shoes, and headed outside. The air was crisp and cold, and briefly he wished he had brought his jacket with him. But when he crawled into the car to gather up his phone he forgot about the cold, choosing to sit inside for a moment and check things out. His phone's screen showed that he had five new voicemails, and after he bypassed them, he saw that Bobby had tried calling him ten times since he had left New Harmony. That didn't include the first that Sam had gotten from him just after having left. He remembered having put his phone into silent mode and shoved it in dash compartment after that.

Bobby was probably very angry with him.

Oddly enough, Sam didn't care.

He remained sitting in the impala for just a moment, still feeling cold. He looked around it. Everything was still very much the same inside, and what felt the strangest to him was the fact that he was sitting in the driver's seat. It had always felt that way, mostly because it happened so infrequently. Sam supposed that, even if it hurt to think it, he would need to get used to being in this spot for a while. He didn't know how long it was going to take to get his powers honed in strong enough to save his brother.

With any luck, it wouldn't be long at all. The quicker, the better. And Sam was a fast learner.

He crossed one arm over his waist and lifted the opposite arm's hand to his mouth, giving a long sigh through his nose. This was still very hard, and even if he did have some sort of plan, there wasn't a guarantee that it would work. Part of him was feeling almost fatalistic. He didn't know why, exactly, and he wished he wasn't. Thankfully, the overwhelming majority of him was still heavily focused on the positive; but all it would take was just a little bit too much negativity for this whole thing to come unraveled.

After sitting in the impala for a few minutes longer, Sam finally got out of it, locked it, and went back into his motel room. The heat enveloped him and he crawled back into his bed, under the covers. That was where he stayed well into the rest of the morning. He didn't fall back to sleep, and instead simply lay there, many things running through his mind: thoughts of Dean, of Bobby…second guesses as to this whole idea of using his dormant powers. He felt like he was in the midst of a tug-o-war, trying to decide if allowing himself to give in to them was worth saving his brother, or if he should try and find another way. It certainly seemed like an easier answer to do the former, and if it helped him defeat Lilith as well, then as Ruby said, there truly wasn't a downside.

But Sam remembered what the other children had been like when they gave in to theirs. He remembered Ava—sweet little Ava and her slightly neurotic tendencies. Giving in to her power had tweaked her mind, and eventually drove her off the deep end. Not to mention how they had caused Max Miller to shoot himself in the head, and made Jake Talley murder him. Sam could feel his skin retracting and his blood almost boil at the memory of him.

He deserved what he got.

Would he end up like them? For the sake of everything, he hoped not.

But old Yellow Eyes had told him he was different—had claimed that he was his favorite, because of his leadership and hunting skills. Sam knew he had a strong will and an even stronger sense of loyalty both to his brother and saving him. Learning to use his powers wouldn't make him evil…nor would it make him homicidal. It was simply going to be a means by which he would save Dean's soul. He would exercise more control over them than any of the others.

Or was he just trying to tell himself that in order to not feel so bad about it?

The electronic radio clock beside him on the nightstand beeped quickly twice, notifying him that it was a new hour. When he turned onto his side to look at it, he saw that it was nine o'clock. It felt earlier. He supposed that had to do with the fact that, reflecting as he was, he hadn't given much thought to the time passing.

Beside him, on the bed, his phone vibrated to remind him that he had voicemails. He had been delaying listening to them, but it was now or never. Feeling that same adrenaline pumping nervousness as before, the young hunter called up his voicemail box, typed his password, and then listened to them.

Bobby's angry voice soon boomed in his ear. _"Sam, you'll get your ass back here if you know what's good for you! And don't ignore my calls! This is the third time I've called in the last ten minutes since you left. Call me back!"_

Beep.

Same tone, but lower octave. _"Sam, it's been a half hour and you haven't called me back yet. Damn it, what the hell are you doin'?"_

Beep.

Now he seemed more irritated than before. _"Sam, I'm gettin' damn sick of you not callin' me back. It's been about two hours now. Look, I just wanna help. So gimme a call."_

Beep.

There was an almost bargaining tone to Bobby's voice in the fourth message. _"Now look, Sam. I'm not tryin' to tell you how to run your life, but just…call me back. I'm gettin' worried about you. It's…about ten in the mornin', now. Wherever you are, just stop, all right? Lemme know where you are, and we can do this together."_

Beep.

The last message sounded completely unlike Bobby, which made Sam sit up in the bed as he listened to it. _"Sam, listen. Please, call me back. This isn't right. I was close to Dean, too. I wanna get 'im back any way possible. Gimme a call."_

Beep.

Sam checked the last call from Bobby in his log. It was at six-thirty this morning, just before he had woken up. As he set his phone down beside his legs, he felt a little ill. When he recalled the memories of just the other night, it all seemed like one incomprehensible blur. Dean dying, him staying beside him for what felt like hours, and then arguing with Bobby about the car keys before he drove off without him. And now, here he was, sitting in a motel room some sixteen hours away, trying to come up with enough solid logic so that he could learn to control his dormant powers without fearing that he would become evil.

It was absolutely amazing what could happen to him in the span of just one or two days. How he hadn't lost it completely, he didn't know. Maybe it was that strong will he was convincing himself that he had. If ever there were proof, that was it right there.

God, a drink sounded really good right now, he thought.

Sam wavered back and forth on whether or not to call Bobby back right then. Maybe it really _was_ in his best interest to do so. Bobby knew things that he didn't, and who knew? Perhaps he knew another way of getting Dean's soul back without having to resort to demonic powers. After a few minutes of frustrating uncertainty, the young hunter finally picked up his phone, gazing down at it as he looked for Bobby's number. He was just about to press the send button when he heard someone clearing their throat.

Looking up, he saw that it was Ruby.

"Good morning, starshine," she said, charmingly dry as always.

Sam paused, holding his phone halfway between his ear and his lap. "Ruby." He couldn't help but sound surprised. "What're you doing here so early?"

"What? I thought you'd want to get started on this right away. At least I waited until you were awake." She raised an eyebrow then, sending a quick glance to the phone in Sam's hand. "Who're you calling?"

"Nobody," came Sam's immediate reply.

"Ah. Hm. So, '_nobody_' is in your phone book? That must be interesting." She folded her arms over her chest, and now focused her gaze on Sam, who stared back for a few seconds before giving in and looking away.

"Fine. I was gonna call Bobby."

"Why?"

The question had been so blunt, and part of Sam bristled from it. "Because he wanted to know if I was okay or not. And he deserves to know."

Ruby's eyes narrowed just slightly as faint creases appeared in her forehead. "If he was _really_ important, wouldn't you have brought him along in the first place?"

Her question stung. He wanted to counter and say that yes, Bobby was important, but that last bit was unfortunately true. Sam would have given the keys to him if he had thought that he was truly important enough to help save Dean's life. Though he was only partially aware of it, Sam's hero complex was in full effect. It was up to just _him_ to save his brother—only _he_ could do it, and nobody else, including Bobby, had the knowledge. But moreover, none of them had the _right_.

"He's important," Sam finally said, though mildly petulantly, almost like a child who had chastised.

Ruby ran her tongue over her teeth, just behind her lip. "Yeeeah. I see that."

"Look, are we gonna do this, or not?" Sam snapped. He looked at Ruby, reaching up to rub his eyes with his right thumb and index finger.

"Touchy, touchy…" The blond demon soon moved herself to take a seat on the bed just a few feet away from, and parallel to, the one upon which Sam currently sat. She hunched over and rested her elbows on her thighs, linking her hands together. "Sure you don't want to get something to eat, first? Or, you know, a shower? You did just wake up, after all. I know how grumpy you can get if you don't get your morning pampering."

"I'm _fine_."

"If you say so."

Neither Sam nor Ruby spoke after that for a few moments—only the occasional chirp of a bird outside broke the silence in the room. Then, finally, he turned to look at her completely. It lasted just long enough for her to turn her glance away, and when she did, Sam got up and out of the bed, moving into the bathroom to relieve himself. He came back out not too long thereafter, his arms folded over his chest.

His tone was uncertain. So much so, in fact, that his words sounded more like a statement than a question. "So…how do we do this."

"It's not that hard," Ruby stated, standing up. "Practice makes perfect, right? You could, what, move things with your mind before? Was that what it was?"

"There were premonitions, too, sort of, but those stopped when Yellow Eyes died," Sam explained.

"That's more passive. You can't do anything about those, Sam. I'm talking about gaining access to your active abilities. You have them in you. You just need to learn what triggers them."

Sam immediately recalled some two years ago, with Max, when he had been trapped in the closet while Dean was upstairs, and how he had moved the cupboard blocking him in by some means or another. He had been having visions all around that time, as well. Try as he might, he couldn't recall the exact feelings he had experienced back then. But he could be sure that one of them was fear, and another, desperation.

"Are we talking emotional triggers?" he asked.

"Maybe. Or physical. Powers can manifest in a lot of different ways." Ruby shrugged. "When was the first time you used that power?"

Sam furrowed his brow in thought. "Two years ago, I think. Around there."

Ruby looked mildly surprised, though why, he didn't know. "And what happened?"

"Dean and I were in Michigan…we were trying to help this kid. He had telekinetic powers. He was one of the special ones." He shook his head. "Anyway, he used them to trap me in this closet. While I was in there, I had a vision of him killing Dean, and…I don't know. I just remember feeling this intense pain, and all of the sudden the door was open. But I know I was the one who did it."

"Huh." Ruby didn't seem surprised by this, nor did she seem to particularly care. But then she said musingly, "So, Dean was in trouble, and you see him die, so you freak out, and your power activates. Then…Lilith tries to kill you, you freak out, and your power activates." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "_My_ guess is that you've got some kind of knee-jerk reaction thing going on. You—or even Dean—get in danger, and then your power pops up like some kind of defense mechanism."

"So then, how do I make it _not_ passive?"

"Were you _not_ listening earlier? I told you. Practice."

"Right." Sam nodded slowly, disbelief visible on his face. "So, I guess I just need to freak myself out, then make things move. I don't see that happening. In fact, I don't see it _ever_ happening. I've been freaked beyond my wildest dreams in the past two years, and they haven't activated once—well, _more_ than once—since then."

Ruby snorted. "Rome wasn't built in a day, Sam."

The young hunter snorted derisively. "Yeah, well, I don't that kind of time."

"Then you better get on it. Unless you really _do _want Dean to continue suffering hellacious torture."

At that moment, Sam felt an incredible burst of anger surge through him. Not necessarily at Ruby, however, just at the concept of Dean suffering. It was because of him. It was in order to save _him_. And here he was, getting into an argument. It was ridiculous.

"I see that rage in there," Ruby noted, stepping closer. "You don't hide it well, Sam. Your mouth gets all tight and your pretty little eyes light up. You have a very serious tell. But hey, did you know? Anger is a great motivator. Who knows? It could even activate your power. Why don't you try it, hm?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at the blond haired demon, suddenly feeling his anger pouring out of himself and toward her. If she had just made him do it her way—had just _shown_ him, even when he said he didn't want to be shown—then they wouldn't have been in this predicament. Dean would have still been alive, and all of this…it never would have happened.

"Why, Sam, are you _glaring_? At _me_?" Ruby cocked her head to the side and jeered slightly. "You can't possibly be pissed off with me. I didn't do _anything_." She took another step forward, which closed the distance between them even further.

Now Sam could smell her. There was a sweet scent in the air, but it mingled with something almost like rotten eggs. He felt himself both repulsed and repelled by it. That seemed to build his frustration and anger even more. In a very unexpected move, he lifted his hands up toward his chest, palms facing Ruby.

And then he did it. Making a pushing motion—although barely—Sam thought about how much he wanted Ruby away from him. There was a painful twinge toward the back of his head, just behind his eyes, and when he looked at her, he watched as she stumbled back, as if she had been hit by an invisible wave. It blew some of her hair over her shoulders and some into her eyes, causing her to sputter just a little bit. It took her a second to recollect herself.

An amused, almost sanctimonious look lit up her face. "Ah, see? I knew you had it in you." She sighed, stepping forward again, but keeping a more comfortable distance between them. "You're a natural, Sam."

Somehow, that didn't sound right to him. Somehow, it felt almost…off.

But he nonetheless accepted it. Even with the slightly ominous feeling in the back of his mind.


	3. Dream a Dream

**Author's Notes: **Sorry this took me so long to update :) It's been a busy week, and I just got back from the Bite of Oregon, where I met Cat Cora, the famous chef from Iron Chef! She's awesome, and I love her, so it was a good day. Anyway, here is chapter three. I wanted to thank everyone for being so interested in my story! It makes me so glad to know that there are those who are intrigued and want to read further. And to answer your question, 1000Greensun, I actually...can neither confirm nor deny if there will be any sort of shipping going on in here, mostly because I kind of just let the characters go on their own accord as I write them. As it stands now, the answer is no. But I never say never. Some of my favorite pairings have ended up from that kind of concept.

As with the previous chapters, I would love to get some feedback on what I've written, so please don't hesitate to leave reviews!

Also, yes, ahead of time, I do know the difference when I say spoon and when I say spork. However, Sam does not know when he recalls things. ;)

* * *

"Sammy."

A pause.

Then:

"Sammy!"

Sam shifted, rolling over in the uncomfortable bed in which he currently found himself. His upper back and shoulders ached a little. The mattress was as hard as a rock, and it felt like he was sleeping on a slate of stone.

"What, you deaf? Sam, wake up. Come on, we gotta go."

At first, it took him a moment to open his eyes. When he did, everything was a little blurry. But what really caught his attention was that there was an awful lot of light in the room. His reflex was to groan quietly and shield his eyes. Then, beside him, a weighty something suddenly plopped down. He grunted.

"You didn't drink _that_ much, you big baby. Rise and shine, cupcake. Come on, or I'll drag you out to the car in your pajamas and the whole world can gawk at your bird legs."

As quickly as the weight had landed beside him, it disappeared. He heard the heavy steps of booted feet becoming fainter—walking away—while lifting himself up in the bed. Sam stretched, though carefully. Finally, he reopened his eyes.

Standing in the bathroom just a few yards away from him was his brother, Dean. He was dressed as he always was: a pair of worn-in boots and jeans, along with a basic grey shirt, covered by a casual, collared button-up. He was fixing his already styled hair. Clearly, he was preening.

At first Sam felt like he was dreaming. This couldn't be real. There was no way in hell that Dean was standing there, right before him.

His voice was unsure, but hopeful. "Dean?"

Dean turned his head to the side and put down his comb on the counter. "Finally! Come on, Sam. We have to be at that estate sale in a half-hour. Get your ass outta bed."

Sam couldn't remember anything about an estate sale at that moment, but that didn't matter. The pain in his back and shoulders didn't matter, either. Nothing did. Dean was back—through some _miracle­—_and that was all that the younger hunter could think of. He hurriedly removed the covers from over him, practically tossing them into a bundle on the floor as he flung himself out of the bed and into the bathroom. He stood in the doorway for a moment, simply staring at his brother.

Dean noticed this, and he raised an eyebrow. "What? Is there something on my face?"

Although Sam knew that Dean hated chick-flick moments, he couldn't help himself. Feeling overwhelmingly happy and _restored_, the younger hunter reached out and brought his brother into a tight, loving embrace. He rested his head against the other's, almost clinging to him. Despite Dean's at first confused attempts to pull away, Sam didn't let go.

"Sam. Sam! What the hell? What's gotten into you?"

When he finally pulled back, the taller one blinked several times. He could feel that familiar tightening sensation in his throat that told him he would tear up if he weren't careful. So, speaking somewhat softly, he said: "Just happy to see you, is all."

Dean didn't look like he believed a word of it, but miraculously he said nothing. Instead he just turned and stared at himself for a moment longer in the mirror, reaching up to pick at a stray hair. "If you're done with your little Lifetime moment, then go get ready. We don't got much time." He turned to his brother.

Sam caught himself staring. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, okay."

Dean's face contorted some with concern. He, too, stared, and after a pause, said: "Sam, you all right? You're not acting like you normally do."

"I'm fine," Sam assured his brother quickly. "Just…a little dazed from waking up like that. I was dreaming." That conclusion—that he was dreaming—seemed to come very naturally to him. All that he had suffered through: watching Dean die; fighting with Bobby; arguing with Ruby…it had all been a dream. This—_this_ was reality. Him and Dean, together in a motel room, getting ready for whatever the world was offering to them.

And here, it seemed to be an estate sale. They must have been going to check in and see if they could get any information about the individuals' deaths.

As he turned around to go toward his bag and grab his clothes, Sam said, "So remind me again why we're going to the estate sale. Not all circuits are a go in my brain this morning…"

Dean didn't respond to him. At first, that didn't mean much to the younger hunter. He probably just hadn't heard, or wasn't paying attention. So, after Sam pulled out fresh clothes from the duffel bag, he lifted his head up and started toward the bathroom, only to find that his brother was staring very intently into the large mirror that covered the entirety of the wall above the long counter.

"Dean?"

Dean again didn't respond. Instead, he lifted up a hand to touch his cheek, as if mesmerized by what he saw in the mirror. Up until this point Sam hadn't been looking at it. It actually seemed almost blocked from his vision. But he was curious as to what Dean was seeing. Very curious. And so, with that he focused his attention on the large mirror.

What he saw made him want to throw up. At the base of it all was a very obvious collection of flames—so real in appearance that Sam felt he could reach out and touch them. Surrounding his brother's silhouette were dark, ashen grey and black rock walls. And behind him—it was like Dean was in a cave—was a bright orange horizon, upon which he could make out a tiny figure in the sky. He couldn't recognize it, but he could tell that it was evil, could feel its ominous presence. He could tell that it was coming for Dean, who in the mirror looked worse for wear. But worst of all was the look in his brother's eyes—that expression of complete and utter dread.

Sam tore his gaze away from the mirror and forced it toward Dean, but he fumbled back and let out a disgusted groaning noise at what he saw now standing before him. There was his brother, complete with ash-colored skin, scars and marks littering his face and now mostly visible body, thanks to clothes that looked as if they were torn to shreds by a tiger.

What got to him the worst was the fact that, when they locked eyes, Dean's were entirely black. And the wicked smirk that appeared on his lips was evil. It was pure evil.

"Just a matter of time, Sammy," Dean said in a gravelly voice. "Just a matter of time before I'm like this for good, and you'll have to kill me." A disturbing sneer appeared on his face. "And it'll feel good…oh, it'll feel _real_ good…"

Stumbling back, Sam then all of a sudden felt like he was being pulled up and away from the scene. In an instant he was awake, lying flat on his back in the motel room bed, his fingers tightly gripping the sheets as he gasped for breath. He lay there for a moment, willing his quickly beating heart to calm down and his mind to stop racing. When they finally did he turned and moved to lie on his side, facing the clock. Its neon green numbers read 6:30 AM.

What a horrible dream, he thought. His stomach did uncomfortable flips at the vivid imagery replaying in his mind. Dean, looking like some kind of disgusting demonic victim, telling him that it would feel good to kill him. How contrasting that feeling was to the seemingly endless euphoria that he had experienced at the beginning of the dream.

That had been the third dream in the past two weeks that had made Sam want to claw his eyes out. Every time he woke up from one of them he felt distinctly worse than the time before, and never went back to sleep afterward. He was too tired to realize it, but each and every time, he had woken up at 6:30 in the morning. And as with each and every time, Sam rolled over onto his back once again, staring up at the white ceiling above him, thinking about what had taken place the day before, or a couple days previous.

This time he thought about the last event that had taken place between him and Ruby. After the initial shock had worn off of him using his telekinetic powers against her, he had told her to leave, needing some time alone to sort through everything. Oddly enough, Ruby had complied, and didn't bother him until he happened to call for her next. That was about a week ago, on the afternoon of the 11th. Sam remembered, because he had ventured out on the town the night before for the first time since Dean's death, and returned home with a bottle of Jack Daniels, only to drink himself into a stupor and pass out until the mid-afternoon the following day. He called for Ruby after getting himself into better shape, and she told him further about how he would need to practice his power. Part of her had worried that he would be attacked while she wasn't around, but because Sam barely left the motel room, his whereabouts were likely unknown to anyone, even Lilith.

That late Sunday afternoon, Ruby instigated Sam further as a means of getting him to use his power. And to nobody's surprise, it worked. This time, Sam had managed not only to push Ruby away from him, but also to make her fly into the wall nearby with enough force to knock her briefly unconscious. Although she seemed irritated with that fact, she also appeared nonetheless pleased with his apparently quick progress.

But the session—during which Ruby poked and prodded at Sam in ways that left him feeling emotionally bruised and sensitive—had angered him pretty badly, and he again ordered her to leave him be. As she left, there was an almost smug look on her face, which he didn't quite understand. Sam hadn't seen her since then and hadn't made any effort to call her. If angering himself was the way to get his power to activate until he managed to get control of it, he could do that, himself, and spare himself the emotional torture that she put him through.

That Wednesday, which was the 14th, after getting himself something to eat from the nearby Taco Bell, Sam sat down at the small table beside the entertainment center with several plastic sporks he had taken from the condiment bar. At first he simply focused on them, trying his best to use his telekinetic ability without getting angry, or desperate. He tried everything—squinting his eyes, waving his hand, even commanding them verbally to move. How come it worked for the chicks on Charmed, but not him? Nothing seemed to work.

Until he started thinking about his brother. It had been almost two weeks since Dean had been killed, and Sam had made progress, but surely not enough to save his brother from Hell. So far, all he had managed to do was push Ruby away and knock her out for a few minutes. That was harder than trying to move plastic sporks, which he seemed absolutely incapable of doing at that moment. Irritated with himself, Sam slammed his balled up fist down on the tabletop, then sighed.

He told himself that he was going to try one more time, and if it didn't work, then he would call Ruby. He stared intently at the sporks then, which had shifted and spun a little in place due to his hand slamming the table. There were four in all, still wrapped in their crinkled plastic bags. What he wouldn't give to make them move…just to prove that he could do it. He wanted nothing more than for them to just…lift up into the air.

And to his surprise, the sporks started to tremble a little on the table's surface, just as he felt a light pang of pain in the back of his head. Each one of them shifted and shook as if someone were touching them. Sam continued to focus intently on them, now intrigued by the fact that they were moving. Again he thought about how much he wanted them to lift up into the air. As if someone had tied little marionette strings to them, each one of the sporks slowly rose into the air, tip first, followed by the handle. They all rose to different heights, but what mattered the most was that they had _moved_.

Then, as quickly as they had lifted themselves up, they fell back down onto the table with a light clatter. Sam stared at them, but they didn't move again. They stayed stationary.

As he lay there in the bed now recalling _this_ particular event, Sam could remember the feeling coursing through him. It had been somewhere around pride, but there were other things mixed in—several things that he couldn't quite name. Uncertainty, maybe, or even a little shame. All he knew was that, at that moment, he felt oddly good about himself.

He hadn't contacted Ruby to tell her about it yet. According to his phone it was now Saturday, the 17th. And he had a long day ahead of him, since he knew he wasn't going back to sleep any time soon.

Sam trudged his way to the bathroom for a shower. He stayed in there for quite some time, just letting the water run over him. His muscles, but just his body in general, felt more tired lately, and the warm water helped to loosen them up and awaken his senses. When he got out he wrapped a towel around his waist, intent on getting dressed. But as soon as he opened the door he stopped dead in his tracks, feeling his heart jump.

"Ruby."

Sitting with her legs crossed and her hands gripping the edge of the bed was indeed Ruby, and an amused smirk appeared on her face. "Goodness, Sam. I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?"

Instinctively he gripped the hem of the towel where it clung to his waist, keeping the two flaps close together. "You could have called," he said. Not willing to appear intimidated or caught off guard, he walked over toward the duffel bag he kept his clothes in, lifting it up onto his bed so that he could pull some out.

"I thought about it, but part of me figured that you wouldn't pick up if you knew it was me." She shrugged. "You've been avoiding me, Sammy."

"Sam," he corrected automatically.

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Like I said, you've been avoiding me. I haven't heard from you since…what, last Sunday? Almost a week ago. And here I thought you wanted to work on pumping up your powers so that you could save your brother."

Sam tugged out a fresh pair of boxer briefs, some socks and an undershirt, laying them out on the bed him in a neat pile. He snatched up his pants from where he had tossed them the night before, and, putting them in the pile, took the group of clothes with him back toward the bathroom. Before he disappeared inside to dress, he said, "Yeah." He came back out a few moments later, using the towel to dry his hair.

"Is it just me," Ruby began, "or do you not seem as interested in doing this as you were at first?" She continued speaking before Sam had a chance to even reply. "Because I distinctly remember your croaky, whiny little voice saying, 'I just want to save Dean'. Well, it's been two weeks, Sam, and all you've done is use your powers twice."

He could feel the irritation building up inside of him again, making him want to knock Ruby back into the wall. How dare she, he thought. With an almost cheeky look on his face he said, "Actually, three."

Ruby was mildly surprised. "Three? Oh, really? When was this third time?"

"Wednesday. I made some spoons move."

In retrospect, the way he said it didn't make it sound nearly as interesting as it had actually been.

"I see." The blond haired demon lifted herself to her feet and folded her arms over her chest, moving toward the table, near which Sam was standing.

"So what're you doing here?" Sam asked bluntly. Even though he knew that Ruby had only been instigating him as a means of getting his powers to activate, it nonetheless bothered him still _how_ she did it, and he had no patience for dealing with that today.

"Well, for one, I came to see if you wanted to do a little bit more training. I thought it was weird that you hadn't called, since, you know, you're all about saving your brother." She paused.

"And?"

"Have you not been keeping up on the news?" Ruby shook her head. "There's been reports of healthy men and women suddenly deteriorating before their loved ones' eyes, all of which have died."

Sam blinked and swallowed slowly. He _hadn't_ been keeping up on the news. In fact, every time he opened his laptop, he felt somewhat sick. Hunting had taken a very obvious back seat to saving his brother.

"How many?"

"Just three thus far. Two men, one woman. All were in their mid-20s."

The fact that healthy individuals were slowly dying could mean several things, none of which Sam could be entirely sure until he investigated things further. As bad as it may have sounded, he partially wished that this could have come at a later time, or just not have happened at all. He didn't need this right now. Dean needed to remain first and foremost in his mind.

"I got the address of the latest death. It was the woman. She doesn't live too far from here."

Part of Sam wanted to tell Ruby that he couldn't deal with this at the moment, that he needed—and wanted—to just focus on Dean. But the rest of him knew that if people were dying, Dean would never forgive him for just letting it happen. Sam _himself_ couldn't ultimately forgive himself if he let it happen.

"Ugh."

Ruby snorted. "'Ugh'?"

"One thing at a time," he finally said. Under his breath, he murmured, "Just a little longer, Dean."

"Looks like this could be a good time to learn how to use some of your other dormant powers." Ruby slowly tilted her head to the side.

"Like?"

"I'm sure you know that some demons can selectively view the future," she stated. She eyed him in an almost insinuating manner as she continued speaking. "And some _humans_, too. After you get some information from the family, who knows? You might be able to even predict the next victim."

"My premonitions were psychically linked," Sam muttered. "The only reason I had them was because they involved children like me."

"That's just the baseline, Sam. Starter steps." Ruby looked briefly away. "You could view so much more if you just worked on it."

He felt himself getting irritated again. "Weren't you the one who told me you _couldn't_ practice passive powers?"

"That's still very true. You can't _practice_ them like you can your active ones. But you can help _ease_ them into happening by doing certain things." She moved away from Sam and headed over to the window, turning away from him while she spoke. "Just…facilitating them so they become habit. Eventually, habit builds strength."

That sounded like another load of bull to Sam. And another thing, it didn't even sound like Ruby. He wanted to ask again why it was she was doing this, why she was helping him, but he knew he would get the same answer that he got before: that she wanted to help humankind, too. At times, Sam wasn't so sure about that. But there was enough evidence to support it, and that made it hard for him to harbor suspicion for too long. That didn't mean that it didn't occasionally rub him the wrong way, however.

"I need to get something to eat," he announced, pausing afterward. "But, I'll go to her house later. Will you…write down the address?"

Ruby nodded, going over to the nightstand and scribbling down the address and name of the woman involved on a pad and paper left by the service phone. When she stood up straight again she looked at Sam. "I've got some things to do today, but I'll stop back in tonight. Don't drink yourself stupid again, all right? It's pretty sad seeing you like that."

As she walked to the door and then out of it, Sam just watched her, feeling mildly stupid and caught off guard.

Had she really caught him doing that?


	4. Investigation

**Author's Notes: **I just wanted to agree with Ster1 in these notes--it's VERY hard for poor Sam to understand just how much of using his powers is "too" much. He doesn't want to become like Jake and the others (I rewatched the last two episodes of season two while writing some future scenes, actually), and he struggles with that in later chapters, but...that's about all I can say for now. ;) I also wanted to say thanks, everyone, for such positive reviews! I haven't felt this excited and inspired to write a story in a really long time (not since picking up my Charmed story again and finishing that), so it makes me happy to know that other people are really enjoying it.

At any rate, here is chapter four! I wrote a good amount of this at night, which is when I tend to be more descriptive (for reasons I'm not entirely sure of), so there's more visuals in this chapter than in the rest. Please let me know what you think, as always, because your feedback is very important to me!

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There was a McDonald's near the motel where Sam was staying. It wasn't really anything to write home about; although what made it unique to him was the fact that it had retained its old, classic 90s style of décor. Sam had been to many, _many_ McDonald's in his life, and while he, Dean and John never quite stayed inside them for more than a few minutes—if that—he always remembered what they looked like, just as he remembered the insides of the countless other fast food joints they had frequented over the years. Why McDonald's remained the most special to him, he didn't know. Or, at least, he couldn't recall. All he knew was that he enjoyed the oddly disturbing over-usage of pastel greens, pinks and blues, the neon lights on the walls that looked like scribbles, and the smell of French fries.

The booth in which he was sitting was mildly uncomfortable, complete with the hard plastic seat and the tabletop with a polished, granite-like surface that was clearly just a cover. His Big Mac value meal was resting atop of it, spread out over a tray, partially eaten.

He had been tempted to go back to his room with the food and just eat it there. But he told himself that he wasn't going to be any good to anyone anywhere if he didn't reintroduce himself to the world outside. It may have only been two weeks since Dean had died, but it felt agonizingly longer, and each day had torn Sam away from the real world more and more. Sure, he had a bit of contact—speaking with the man in the motel reception about staying longer, ordering take out, things like that. But that involved a lot of talking over the phone without having to look at their faces. So far, aside from Ruby, the only person Sam had really spoken face to face to for more than few seconds was the McDonald's employee who had taken his order.

Sam idly plopped a few fries into his mouth, looking around him. It was still early in the morning, maybe somewhere around nine thirty, and the other patrons in the small restaurant either didn't stay long, or didn't stay at all. He didn't mind. It gave him time to think about what was lying ahead of him.

It was the fact that the afflicted individuals' health was deteriorating that had really caught his attention. So few creatures did that, and most of those who did tended to leave behind bloody messes afterward. Changelings were the first things that popped into his mind, but because the affected were adults, he ended up concluding that it was likely the work of a succubus. In a busy town like the one he was in, it wouldn't be entirely far fetched to assume that there was one lurking around. New York had an active nightlife, and plenty of victims for a succubus to latch itself on to. The fact that it was going after healthy folk, too, was another sign, given that they fed off of their target's vitality. Added in with their youth, and all signs were pointing to 'Yes' for it being a succubus.

Sam wouldn't admit it to himself, but deep down, some small part of him was relieved to have something to distract him from dealing with saving Dean's soul. The thought of his brother suffering torture had—and still—tormented him night and day, plagued his dreams, and had really done a number on his physical and mental well beings. The chance to hunt would give him the opportunity to let out that deeply pent up frustration, anger and pain that he had inside.

He took a long drink from his Dr. Pepper. Ruby had written down the address and name of the latest victim for him, and sometime today, he knew that it would be best to go over there and try to get more information. The thing about succubae was just how hard it was to try and find one without getting close enough to get trapped in its web. If he could find the place that it was frequenting—some common denominator of a location between the victims—then he would have an easier time tracking it, and eventually burn it to death.

While he sat there and continued to munch on his meal, Sam looked around him, taking in the sight of the restaurant once more. Maybe the fact that it was so plain was what drew him to liking it so much. There was nothing abnormal about the place, save for maybe the bathroom, which he had regretted going into just a few moments previous. But even that wasn't entirely strange. It was just _normal_.

He figured that he must have been going through one of those stages in his life he had occasionally fallen into after rejoining with Dean, wherein he longed and almost ached for normalcy. The truth of the matter was, there was absolutely nothing normal about learning how to use supernatural powers in order to save your brother's soul from Hell. And that was _any_ way the subject was turned.

Without realizing it, in sitting there and thinking so profoundly about the matter at hand, Sam had completely finished his meal. When he went to grab another fry his fingers dug far into the red box to no avail, which only resulted in him getting salty fingertips. He looked at them almost sadly, but then wiped them off with the cheap brown napkin and then proceeded to put all of his trash together in the box in which his Big Mac had been packed. Afterward, he headed over to one of the trash bins and dumped it all inside of it, setting the tray on top.

He felt an odd sense of dread pour over him at that moment. It didn't take him long to realize that there was loneliness mixed in there as well. This was far from the first time that Sam had ever done this kind of thing without Dean beside him. But, there was a sense of fear in knowing that he wouldn't have him to go back to and convene with. There would be no sassy, teasing remark about Sam thinking it might be a succubus. There would be no smart-aleck retorts.

And, there would be nobody to call him "bitch".

Sam let out a quiet chuckle. That shouldn't have really been funny. It was, however, and also slightly pathetic. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about that kind of thing, he reminded himself. If people were being killed, he needed to get control of himself and get his A game out. If he didn't, more innocent people would lose their lives. Even if saving his brother was his top priority, he couldn't just let people die.

He just couldn't.

As Sam headed out of the McDonald's, he paused by the door, watching the way the sunlight washed into the building. It was filtered through some sign they had on one of the windows, causing an odd mosaic replica of it to appear on the floor below. A brand new Asian salad, it said. That sounded oddly good.

Maybe next time.

Sam wandered into the parking lot and slipped inside the impala, eventually driving himself back to his motel room. When he arrived there, he was just about to put his key in the door when his phone started vibrating inside his jacket pocket. Without much thought to it, he reached inside and retrieved it. But when he saw who it was that was calling him, his heart dropped a little.

"Bobby."

At first, he didn't want to answer. But it quickly dawned on him that it had been an awfully long time, and he hadn't called Bobby to talk, _period_. This wouldn't have been a big deal normally, but given what had just happened, and how things had been left between them, it really was. The biggest reason why Sam didn't want to talk was because of the guilt he felt over what had happened. It was one thing not to call for a few days…but it was another entirely to have not called for over _two weeks_.

Sam snapped out of his little thought-trap just in time to pick up the phone before its last ring. When he did, he hesitantly said, "Hello?"

The other end of the line was silent for a moment. Then came the sound of Bobby's voice. It was slightly tense. "Sam?"

"Yeah. It's me." He sighed quietly. Inwardly, he began to brace himself for an unloading.

What he got was anything but.

"Sam…how you doin'?"

"I'm all right," came his immediate response. Of course, he immediately regretted it, because it wasn't the truth. Sounding somewhat caught off guard, he asked, "How're you?"

"Been better, I'll admit," Bobby said. "Thought you might have done somethin' stupid, since you never called me back."

And there it was. Sam didn't know why he was surprised to hear it brought up, because it undoubtedly was going to be. Nonetheless, part of him wished that it hadn't been. His heart, which had already dropped once and was in the middle of recovering itself from that fall, suddenly plummeted again, now into the pit of his stomach.

"Listen, Bobby—"

"Now Sam, I can understand somewhat," Bobby said, cutting him off. "I remember how Dean was when you died. But you just can't do what you did, boy. You had me worried." Despite the chastising tone Bobby's voice had taken on, it also sounded heavily lidded with concern. "I'm glad you at least picked up the phone this time."

Sam didn't know what to do to at that moment other than apologize. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. And he meant it.

"I know, Sam. I know." Bobby went quiet, and Sam could tell he was shaking his head. "Listen, where are you? What have you been doin' these past few weeks?"

"Not a whole lot of…anything," Sam lied. "I'm in New York right now."

"What're you doin' there?" Another pause. "Did you go to your dad's lock-up?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted.

"Sam…" Bobby began.

"No, Bobby, I didn't—I didn't take anything from it, or anything like that. I just…well." He froze.

Bobby asked, "What did you do, Sam?" And when Sam didn't respond, he asked again, though more intently this time, "_Sam_?"

"I put Dean in there," he finally confessed.

An awkwardly long period of silence followed. Neither man spoke for some time. But finally, Bobby broke it, clearing his throat.

"Listen," he said, "I was lookin' into it, and I don't have any leads right now, but I'm sure I'll find some eventually. Why don't you come here to my place and we'll search together? Find some way to save him?" Here he sighed. "We'll find one, Sam. I promise."

"I know," Sam bit his lip. "And thanks for the offer, Bobby, but I…just can't, not right now."

"Why?"

"There's a job here. There's been talk on the news of some healthy people just…fading away and dying, and it's got a supernatural kick to it. I've been keeping up with it and was gonna investigate it further this afternoon." It should have disturbed him how easy it was to lie about this; but for what it was worth, at that point, Sam was willing to say anything to keep himself where he was. And really, it wasn't an entirely a lie. There _was_ a job where he was, after all.

"Sam," Bobby said, voice becoming serious now, "Don't do anything stupid, all right? Don't go gettin' yourself killed just because of what happened to your brother. I'm comin' up there to see you soon. We'll get this figured out."

"Don't," Sam said immediately. "Just…let me do this, Bobby. All right?"

There was a pause on the other line. But then Bobby, sighing, gave in. "All right, fine. But you _call_ me and keep me updated on what's goin' on or I'll be on your ass faster than you think."

Sam couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle. That was Bobby for you. "Yeah, yeah. Fine. Listen. Bobby…" Here he finally put the key in the lock, fiddled with it to unlock the door, and stepped inside his room. Once he shut the door behind him, he asked, "Why didn't you chase after me? You had your car there. You could've followed."

"I know when someone needs their space, Sam," Bobby said. "I was angry as hell with you for runnin' off like you did, and I probably shouldn't have called right after you did it, but…I'm not stupid. I didn't want to make you feel like some chastised child. You'd just lost your brother. That's hard."

Hearing the words come out of Bobby's mouth made him a little ill. But oddly enough, at the same time, they were relieving. Why, he didn't know. "You still called a hell of a lot for someone who wanted to give me space," he said, but in a tone that wasn't argumentative, rather contemplative. "How're you holding up?"

"I told ya, I was angry. I do stupid things, too, when my emotions get the best of me." Bobby chuckled, but then let out a weary breath. "And me? Well. I'm doin' about as good as someone in this kind of situation can. You know."

"Yeah. Yeah, trust me, I know." Sam said nothing after that, which led to another silent period. It felt like the conversation was coming to a close, and as such, the young hunter cleared his throat in a finalizing sort of way. "I've…gotta go for now, though. I was gonna do some reading, then head out and talk with the latest victim's family."

"All right," Bobby said. "Sam…you take care of yourself, all right? And _call_. I'll be expectin' it."

Sam nodded. "I'll call, Bobby. I promise. Bye."

"Bye, Sam."

After hanging up the phone, Sam dropped it onto his bed, then promptly did the same thing with himself. If the victim had just died, he could probably get away with masquerading as a police officer or detective. All he needed to do was go out into the impala and get himself his suit.

"Show time," he murmured to himself.

. . .

Sam pulled up next to the apartment complex slowly. Not willing to impede the flow of traffic, he ended up moving to the side and parking in a space along the curb. He looked at the number on the side of the building. This was it. A small, yet oddly cozy looking apartment complex right in the middle of a suburban area. Ruby had even managed to get the apartment number and the name of the woman's boyfriend who lived with her.

He put the paper with all the info in his breast pocket, along with his pad and pen that he carried with him while doing 'detective' work. After pocketing his keys as well, he was out of the car. For a moment he stood beside it, staring up at the complex. It looked more like a house than anything else, but when he glanced through the thick pane of glass on the front door, he could see an entrance hall with a number of mailboxes on one side, an elevator at the end of it, and what looked like a door that probably led to some stairs.

It was now or never, he thought to himself.

Sighing, Sam finally rounded the impala and stepped onto the curb, crossing over it before stepping inside the building. On the inside of it, just to the left of the door, was a little intercom system with six small speakers, underneath each of which was a button and the number of the unit. He searched over it until he found number three. He stilled himself momentarily before pressing the button. He heard the little beep and scratch of the system moving into action.

It remained quiet for a second or two, but then on the other end came a greeting, albeit a brisk and slightly cold one. "Hello? Who is it?"

"Mister Jameson?" Sam asked. "This is Detective Morris. I'm on the case involving your girlfriend, Patty Brown?"

"What do you want?" Jameson replied quickly.

"I just had some quick questions I wanted to ask you. I'm sure you've already spoken with the police, but I'm here for a follow-up."

Silence followed for a moment. Then: "All right. I'll buzz you up."

As expected, there was a buzzing sound, followed by a quick click nearby. Sam figured it either belonged to the stairs or the elevator. He couldn't be sure which. In any case, he decided to take the stairs. It was a short trip up to the third floor, hardly a walk at all, and when Sam stepped through the door, he found himself standing in a narrow hallway that led only to the right and to the left. He looked both ways and found that Jameson's apartment was on the left.

When he arrived at the door he pressed the doorbell beside it, which caused another buzz. There were footsteps on the other side—it must have been a wood floor, Sam thought, given how loud they were—and soon the door was opened. Standing beside it was a man similar to Sam in both height and weight, with crop-cut blond hair and relatively pale, but clear, skin. He was wearing a pair of designer glasses and had a small stud in his left ear.

"Detective?" Jameson asked. Sam nodded, flashed him his badge, and was ushered inside. Jameson shut the door behind them. "I was just on my way out, so I don't have a whole lot of time. Is there any way we can reschedule this?"

"Actually, it shouldn't take long," Sam said with a shake of his head. He pulled out his pen and pad of paper. "I just needed to ask a few things. It'll take maybe five, ten minutes max." This seemed to either please or irritate Jameson, although which it was, Sam didn't really know. All he could see was the change in the man's stature, which had become somewhat stiff.

"All right, all right," Jameson said.

He gestured toward the plush tan couch that sat in the middle of the room. The apartment itself was surprisingly nice, which Sam hadn't expected, given the neighborhood. The entirety of it was very open, with no separation between the entryway and the living room. The way to the kitchen was through a large arch just to the left of the couch, which, along with an equally plush loveseat, glass coffee table and a tile fireplace—above which sat an LCD plasma widescreen television—was the focal point of the room. Just behind the loveseat was a sliding glass door that must have led to the patio, although decorative brown drapes hid that from his view.

When Sam took a seat, he almost felt as if he were going to be eaten by the couch. It was softer than it looked, and surprisingly comfortable. Jameson sat on the loveseat perpendicular to the couch.

"I told the police everything I know," he said with a sigh, one that indicated clear weariness.

"I understand," Sam replied gently. "Like I said, it won't take too long." He cleared his throat. "So, can you tell me if Patty was exhibiting any strange behavior the last few days, maybe even weeks, before she passed away?"

"Patty was a real busybody," Jameson said. "I told the police this. I mean, she worked forty plus hours a week, went out with friends often, and she and I went out on dates every week. She loved to cook." He sighed again. "But…I dunno. I told them, I said, after she and her friends checked out that new club that opened not too far from here about a month ago, she started acting…different."

"New club? And different how?"

"Yeah, that Egyptian Club place. And I dunno, just…different! See, Patty and I work different shifts in our jobs. She's early morning to mid-afternoon, and I work late afternoon to midnight. She would always be in bed before I was. And that's the thing; she'd be in _bed_. I'd say starting about two weeks ago, she started falling asleep on the couch."

"On the couch," Sam replied. "She never did this before?"

"Never," Jameson said seriously. "Plus, she was a real neat freak, so she'd always be cleaning the house and everything. When she didn't, I would. It was no big deal. But she just…stopped doing that, too. She was just so tired all the time."

"And there were no changes in her diet, or work schedule, or anything like that?"

"No, no…Patty always ate really well, and she'd go for runs at least twice a week when she got home from work." Jameson paused, reaching up to run a hand over his face. Sam could see that he, too, looked tired, but it was obviously from having to deal with everything that had happened recently. He continued: "But ever since…I'd say around Mother's Day, she just started getting more and more tired."

"Did she ever mention anything about strange dreams, or…anything like that?" Sam prodded carefully.

Jameson gave him a strange look, but apparently didn't think enough of it to retort. "Not really. I mean, she became more withdrawn, too, so maybe she did and just didn't tell me. She didn't go out with her friends nearly as much, and she asked to cancel our dates, because she could barely keep up with her work anymore. And she would sleep _all the time_, but it never seemed to be enough. I told her she needed to see her doctor, but she hates doctors, so she told me that she would just fix it herself with some changes to her diet and some more sleep. And then…" He trailed off, shaking his head and looking uncomfortable.

Sam had been busy writing down all of the information he could, or at least what was relevant to his search. So far, all signs were pointing to what he thought. It was strange, of course, for a succubus to go after women. But it wasn't unheard of.

"It's all right, Mister Jameson. I understand how hard this is for you, and I appreciate you taking the time to go over it all again. I just have one more question. It might seem strange, but it's relevant to the other cases we're looking into." Jameson looked at him, and Sam said, "Did your wife show any decrease in…the pursuit of pleasure?"

Jameson's eyes widened briefly with shock. "What? Why would you ask that? I—"

"Mister Jameson, please. Your girlfriend wasn't the only one who's suffered this same way, and we're taking any lead we can to find out what's behind it. It could be drug related." That was a lie, of course, but it seemed to calm Jameson down.

He grunted quietly. "She did, yeah. We were pretty regular, but…it happened less and less. She said it was because she was tired. But part of me felt…" He paused. It was obvious that what he was about to say was hard for him to admit. "Part of me felt like she might have lost interest, or something. I dunno."

"Thank you," Sam said. He folded over the cover on his pad and stuck both it and his pen back into his breast pocket. He moved to stand, and Jameson followed suit. "That's all I had to ask for now. Like I said, I really appreciate you taking the time to answer these questions. I know it's hard for you to relive what happened."

"It's okay," Jameson murmured. "As long as it helps figure out what happened to her. I was on my way to speak with my attorney about the autopsy report."

"I'll let you be on your way, then."

Jameson ushered Sam back toward the door, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, the hunter wandered away from the apartment and made his way back down the stairs and to the impala. When he slipped inside of it, he sighed heavily. From what he could recall of succubae, this fit the bill very well. And he had gotten the name of a place, the Egyptian Club. With that in mind, he could hopefully use it as a means of searching through the other two deaths. If those men went there…then he had found his place.

All he really had to do now was go back and investigate things further.


	5. Stake Out

**Author's Notes:** Well, school is out now, and I have several weeks of off-and-on free time, which makes me happy! My writing will get more attention now, which I greatly approve of. As such, hopefully updates will be a little more frequent. If not, it just makes the story that much more interesting, since you have to wait! It always kills me, having to wait for TV shows and stuff, but it's always more enjoyable that way. I have a lot of other little Supernatural plot ideas running around in my head, but I'd like to finish this story, first. Or, maybe I can finally do some double writing like I used to. Who knows! We'll see.

Okay, enough of my rambling. Here's chapter five. Please enjoy!

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Sam stared at his laptop monitor, wanting nothing more at that moment than to just roll over onto his bed and fall asleep. It was nearing eleven at night, and he had been reading up on succubae and researching the deaths of the two men since the early afternoon. He had only taken a break once to grab himself something to eat. The remnants of his trip to the vending machine were scattered about the table near the entertainment center: a ripped up ho-ho wrapper, a bag of empty Lay's BBQ chips, and a bottle of water with a small amount left in the bottom of it.

He slowly shut his laptop and moved it further down toward the end of the bed, then lay himself against the pillows, feeling the muscles in his lower back tighten from the tension. He gave a quiet grunt and closed his eyes.

It was a knock on the door that usurped sleep right out from under him.

Blearily blinking his eyes, the tired hunter waited to see if it was room service, though he didn't know why it would be. Then the knocking became a little bit harsher, and quicker. Impatient, almost. That was when he realized that it was Ruby. He had completely forgotten that she was coming over again tonight.

"Just a minute," he called to her, yawning as he got up and out of the bed, heading over toward the door. When he pulled it open he then stepped aside, and the blonde haired demon moved past him, heading right into the center of the room.

"Hello to you, too," Sam said with a snort.

She turned quickly on him and eyed him with slight exasperation. "I would have been here earlier, but I was _attacked_."

Sam's light amusement turned to confusion. "Wait, what? What happened?"

"I was on my way here when I was ambushed by another demon."

"Wait, why? Was it one of Lilith's minions?"

"Duh," Ruby said. She brushed some of her hair over her shoulder. "I knocked them off of me and they started going off about how Lilith wants me dead for trying to help you before. I don't think they know we're meeting up now, but just the same, I waited a couple of hours before I came here, in case any of them might have been tracking me. The last thing we need right now is a wave of demons coming after us."

That really _was_ the last thing they needed right now. Sam had his hands full with trying to figure all the information out with the succubus. On top of that, he knew the reason Ruby had come back was so that he could practice his powers. That was hellacious enough as it was. Adding demons on top of that would be the straw that broke the camel's back.

He rubbed his forehead, already feeling a light headache forming. "Let's try and keep it on the down low. Don't come over unless it's nighttime. I'm gonna have to leave soon to investigate and talk to the families of the two guys who died, probably tomorrow, but I'll keep hidden. Until I get this succubus issue out of the way, we can't leave."

"Succubus, huh?" Ruby raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think it's one of those?"

"There aren't many creatures that feed off the health and vitality of twenty-somethings," Sam said, shaking his head. "_Especially_ ones as successful and rich as the woman who just died. Her apartment was just…wow. Anyway, _that_ reeks of greed and hunger, and succubae are famous for it. I'm gonna bet the two guys are from pretty affluent families, too. We'll see later."

All Ruby said in response was, "Hm." Then she walked over to the table, resting her hand on top of one of the chairs. "Well, figure it out soon, 'cause we'd better get a move on if we're gonna keep you from getting killed."

"Thanks for that," Sam said sullenly. He didn't want to think about being killed right now. Dying wasn't on his list of priorities. "Let's get working on this practice so I can get some sleep, talk to the families tomorrow, and then work on finding the succubus."

Ruby snorted. "Sounds like you're getting tired of it. But, fine by me. Although I think now it's not a matter of finding what triggers your powers so much as it is finding out how to use them without needing it. It's like riding a bike. Figure out how, and you'll never forget."

Indignation and desperation by now weren't that hard to come by for Sam nowadays. They had reached the half-month mark of Dean being in Hell; hopefully his brother wasn't losing hope. Dean was strong, but Sam didn't think he would be strong enough to stave off that loss for a really long time. That Dean had to endure it all infuriated Sam quite a bit. Plus, what Ruby said made him want to punch her square in the face. That helped.

He took in a deep breath, then nodded as well.

"All right, Sam. Hit me with your best shot." Ruby smirked faintly.

For the hell of it and just to see if he could do it without any thought behind it, Sam jerked his hand outward, palm open, right at Ruby. Nothing happened. But, that wasn't surprising. She laughed at him almost mockingly, which made him set his jaw and purse his lips. He was going to do this somehow or another without needing that desperation, or that anger. In his head he visualized himself causing Ruby to fly right off her feet and right into the bathroom. That caused a strange tingling somewhere inside of him. Choosing to go with it, Sam focused intently, and with a wave of his hand in front of him, he used his power. Ruby was off of her feet almost instantly and soon was flying to the side, into the bathroom, just as he had anticipated. Her surprised yelp turned into a grunt when she hit the linoleum floor.

Sam was first filled with a strong sensation of pride after the brief pain subsided. This time, without any provocation (or at least only a little), he had managed to activate his telekinetic abilities. Of course, he had been sloppy in his form, but nonetheless, Ruby _moved_, and that was all that mattered. He stared down at his hand, still feeling that tingle, although now all down his right arm. Slight concern filled him then. Was she okay? He was still looking at his arm, however, when she stepped out of the bathroom, brushing herself off.

"I wasn't expecting it to actually _work_," she said. "But good job, nonetheless. A lot better than last time."

"What do you mean, you weren't expecting it to actually work?" Sam looked—and felt—mildly offended.

"That's not what I meant," Ruby corrected herself. "What I meant was, I didn't expect you to be able to do it completely without needing to have that trigger. The fact that you can means a lot of good things, Sam. You're _learning_." She let out a huff of breath. "But I think for the sake of my safety, I'm gonna have to practice on other things for now."

Sam smirked.

. . .

Sam and Ruby practiced for about a half hour further before she left him alone for the night. She seemed quite pleased with the progress that he had made, and told him that she would stop by sometime in the near future, although she couldn't be sure exactly as to when, mostly for safety reasons.

When she finally left, Sam got himself ready for bed and simply ended up falling asleep on top of his bed rather than in it. Luckily, sleep was nice to him, and he suffered no bad dreams or tense moments. More nights were like that than not, for which he was thankful, but because of that, he also felt somewhat guilty. Still, he had even woken up around eight, which had been a pleasant surprise for him. A quick shower and breakfast later and he went on his way to visiting the families of the two men that had been picked up by the succubus.

Information from them confirmed his belief that it was, in fact, what he thought it was.

The first man who died had still been living at home. Sam had spoken with his parents about the case, who had given much more detail about it than he actually needed. But they seemed quite hopeful that someone would figure out what had happened and would bring justice and closure to the situation. His name was Bart, and he often partied and hung out with friends late at night. He, too, had visited the Egyptian Club when it first opened, which set off little alarms in Sam's head. Two out of three meant there was at least a slight pattern.

When Sam went to visit the family of the second man, he ended up speaking with the victim's sister. It seemed that he lived alone in a studio apartment, but because of his close-knit relationship with her, she knew what had been going on with him, and had been worried about him. Like the other two, this man—named Tarren—had gone to the Egyptian Club upon its opening.

Three out of three meant he had a location. Now all that it was going to take was going to the club and trying to find the succubus. This would have been the time he would have spoken with Dean, would have tried coming up with some sort of plan. Going by himself was dangerous, especially if he got too close and didn't figure it out before it was too late. But he couldn't ask Bobby…and he certainly couldn't ask Ruby. If the two of them were out in public together and were seen by the wrong person, it would be absolute hell.

No pun intended.

Sam returned to his motel room sometime that late afternoon, somewhat tired from having driven halfway across the city just to visit one of the families. When he stepped inside, he was hit with a sad wave of nostalgia. Even if he had been dealing with it for some time now, there were still moments here and there where he had to just stop and think about how strange and uncomfortable it was that Dean wasn't there with him. Now seemed to be one of those moments. Sam stared at the second bed in the room, feeling that familiar aching in his heart. He missed Dean. He would have even given the world if it meant just _hearing_ him once. Sure, he could recall his brother's voice inside of his head, but it didn't compare to the way it sounded coming from the other.

That seemed incredibly cheesy and almost disgustingly sappy to Sam when he thought about it, but he didn't really care. It wasn't like anyone was reading his thoughts, or would be. And so what, he thought? He missed his brother and wanted to see him. If anybody blamed him, then they were heartless and deserved to be slaughtered.

Sam blinked. Where had _that_ thought come from?

He shook his head, pulling his eyes away from the bed and going toward the table to drop off the keys and his phone. The club didn't open until sometime later that night, and without anybody to go with, Sam needed a couple hours' worth of downtime to come up with a plan on how to defend himself against the creature in question. This was the first time that the thought of opening their father's journal had crossed his mind. He kept it buried inside the duffel bag that he brought into the motel room with him, mostly as a means of protecting it.

For a moment, Sam simply stared at the bag, which sat in the far corner of the room on the other side of the unused bed. There were many different kinds of protection spells written in there, along with the book he kept with him that had Latin incantations for anything from a minor headache to exorcisms. When he finally moved over to the duffel bag and pulled out his dad's journal, he felt that aching in his heart again. The last time he had used this was with Dean.

Sam set his jaw. That deeply hidden relief he had felt previously about having something else to do had been snuffed out pretty damn quick, that was for sure.

He brought the journal back with him over to the table, where he took a seat and began flipping through it. He eventually found an entry about succubae, and in it, what looked like a scribbling of a spell that supposedly protected someone from having one enter their dreams. Sam was smart enough to know that succubae not only stole energy through direct sexual contact, but also from the constant anguish a victim went through when they were unable to get the succubus out of their thoughts. Aside from the spell, the only other helpful thing in the journal was a mention of how the irises of a succubus were black, just like the pupil.

"That would explain why she's been going to a dark club," Sam said to no one in particular.

The journal also made mention of their unnatural beauty, complete with shapely curves, full breasts and supple skin, all designed to lure their victims in. That wasn't particularly helpful, however, because the question then became, what was supernatural versus simply natural? It meant that he would have to be extra careful in his search for a woman who had an attractive figure and nearly completely black eyes. That sounded like trying to find a needle in a haystack. But, Sam had gone up against worse before, and with less to go off of, and had been just fine. He could do this.

So why did he feel a distinct sense of discomfort at the thought of going at this alone?

Oh, right, he thought. No Dean.

In the time until the club was set to open, Sam kept himself occupied by trying to do research on the supernatural ability of 'calling' for someone, but found little luck. Why it hadn't occurred to him to check it out up until now, he wasn't quite sure. But, he hadn't been doing things like he normally would. Having a major part of his daily life just suddenly disappear at the drop of a hat made doing even the simplest of tasks difficult, despite his obstinate denial of this fact. And even if he thought that he was coping all right without him, the truth was that he really wasn't. Half the things Sam was doing were surely to be disapproved of by his brother. Hell, majority of them were likely to be.

But he couldn't have cared less at this point. Whatever it took to get Dean back, he was going to do. That was the only thing that mattered at that moment, aside from getting rid of this succubus so he could return his focus to what was truly important to him. Thinking on that made him realize something. It felt like he was flipping and flopping back and forth on all of this, trying to keep up with what he _should_ have been doing as well as what he _wanted _to be doing. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to his actions. One moment, he was gung-ho about the succubus, but most others, it was _all_ about Dean. And then occasionally, he felt such a crippling ache in his heart that it almost was impossible to do _anything_.

What happened to one thing at a time, he wondered?

The time eventually came for him to leave, but before doing so, Sam sat in the impala for a few minutes, just staring at the seat beside him. For some reason, he had a flash memory of one of the countless times Dean had drunk himself stupid, making it impossible for him to drive. Even in those moments, he was always so protective of his car. His _baby_.

That made him snort faintly.

Sam finally turned the engine over and pulled out of the parking lot of the motel room, driving to the club. It had been hell getting there in order to stake it out, and getting there now proved to be just as horrible. He had to park about a block away and walk his way there. To top it all off, there was a line all the way around the corner of the building. He held up the rear of it for a few minutes before some others started queuing behind him. The beat of the music inside could be both heard and felt through the brick and mortar wall. It made Sam feel strangely ill at ease. But, trying to figure out why seemed to pass the time long enough to get him to the front of the line, and, after a flash of one of his dozens of IDs, he slipped inside.

The club itself wasn't anything to write home about. Sam hadn't been to one in ages, and was immediately reminded of why when he made his way deeper inside. The music was horrendously loud, thumping all the way to his very core. There were more people than he felt comfortable with, too, most of which were dressed to either impress or bare everything. There were, of course, a few who weren't—awkward looking ones with whom he could identify. Sam himself had opted for a pretty basic outfit: his boots, relaxed fit jeans, an A-shirt covered by a plaid button-up, and his jacket. He was already feeling warm from all the extra heat of the people moving around inside, but he refused to remove anything. Inside the breast pocket of his jacket was a gun, and tied around his right calf was a knife. He didn't need either of them being revealed, or being used against him.

But he went on pretending like he belonged there. Or he at least pretended as best he could that he did. There was a disproportionate amount of women to men in the club, which he noticed almost immediately upon sitting down at the bar. That was going to make his job a little bit tougher.

For now, all Sam could really do was stake the place out. The woman had died very recently, within a couple of days, which meant that the succubus had probably had her fill and was already moving on to someone else. It was his belief that the demon had overlapped the three, going from one to the next until they consequentially died. A fourth victim had probably already been chosen, and the creature was likely looking for a fifth. This was all speculation, of course, and until Sam knew for sure, he couldn't make any concrete conclusions. He just had to make do with what he had.

Sam ordered himself a beer, shifting so that he rested with his back against the counter. It gave him a better view of the club as a whole. There was so much going on that it was almost overwhelming; his eyes kept being tugged in different directions as one thing caught his attention, then another, and then another. After a few minutes of that, he finally had to turn around to keep himself from getting sick. Now he remembered why he and Dean always did this together. It was so much easier to stake things out with two people.

When he spun back around, Sam's legs came in direct contact with a guy that was standing next to him. He hadn't been there at first, so the young hunter quickly apologized in a somewhat loud voice over the music, looking surprised.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hit you. I was just—"

"It's okay," the man said in an equally loud tone, cutting him off. In spite of the strange neon lights placed around the bar, Sam was able to make out his features quite easily. He was of average height, with lightly tanned skin and straw-colored hair. Purple tinted glasses hid his eyes. He was wearing a relatively tight fitting black shirt, through which the hunter could see his leaned, toned build. To Sam, he was your basic club goer. "Didn't spill your drink, did you?"

"No, no." But Sam spoke before he even actually checked his drink. A brief glance at it confirmed that it was just fine. He chuckled. "It's fine." He set it on the bar, then turned completely.

"Good thing I didn't have one of my own yet," the guy joked with a laugh. He ordered himself a Screwdriver, and while he waited, he looked over at Sam, eying him briefly. "Dude…what's with the outfit?"

Sam looked down at his own choice of clothes. It was sensible and smart, that was what was with it. He snorted. "I dressed comfortably."

"Can you even dance in that?"

"I guess." He couldn't very well say that he wasn't looking to dance, because he didn't want to seem strange. Instead he settled on saying, "It's my first time here."

"Oh…why didn't you say so?" After getting his drink, the guy leaned in on the bar next to Sam, getting a bit too far into the hunter's comfort zone. He would have backed away, but that would have put him in the bubble of the person beside him, and he didn't want to cause trouble. "My name's Adrian. What's yours?"

"Sam."

"Well, welcome to the Egyptian Club, Sam. Next time, you should wear something a little more club friendly." Adrian smiled, and in a strange way, it made something inside of Sam tingle a little.

"Thanks." Sam took a sip of his beer, returning his gaze to the dance floor. After the initial shock of the place had now worn off, he came to realize that the club had an uneven sort of floor, with platforms ranging from one to several feet tall scattered about the place. It put people on higher levels than others, and on one of the platforms, there was even a cage. He hadn't noticed before, simply seeing a sea of people dancing and moving with the music.

Adrian's voice caught his attention again. "So, what brings you here?"

Sam turned his head to look at the man standing beside him. "Not much, really. Just…thought I'd come and check the club out. Wanted to be here on the opening night, but I had to work."

"Ah." Adrian took a quick sip of his drink. "Yeah, it was pretty fun. Packed as hell, though. You could barely dance without knocking elbows with someone."

"Can you even do that _now_?" Sam laughed.

"Good question…" Adrian gave a laugh as well. Then he shifted. "Listen, I gotta go back to my friends. It was nice meeting you, though." He put a hand on Sam's shoulder, which at first caused the young hunter to stiffen. "Could I get your number? Maybe we can hang out sometime?"

Sam let out a somewhat apprehensive chuckle. "Oh. Hey man, I'm…not…you know…"

"Oh! Oh, God. Fuck. Sorry about that." The light haired man grinned. "Can't blame a guy for trying, though, huh? Someone as cute as you." He patted Sam's shoulder then, finally pulling his hand away. When he did, Sam felt that odd tingling sensation get a little worse.

"Yeah."

"Well, at any rate. See you around, maybe?"

But Adrian didn't stick around for an answer. He bit his lip and pulled away from the bar with his drink, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Sam lost sight of him almost immediately after he walked away, and a fleeting thought inside of his head came, telling him to go after him. Sam chalked it up as one of those weird thoughts one tended to have when overwhelmed and not entirely focused on the task at hand. Why would he care to follow that guy?

He took another drink of his beer. He was in for a long night.


	6. Revelation

**Author's Notes:** Hey all! Sorry this took me so long to post. I gave blood last Wednesday, and right around that time, the weather here in Oregon decided to freak out, and we went from mild 70s to highs of 100 degrees, which sent me through loops and caused me to get sick. So, for the past week, I've been dealing with that, on top of working a lot and things like that. I've not managed to write in this past week at all, which just isn't awesome. Rawr!

Anyway, here's chapter six. I'm currently writing chapter twelve, so with any luck, I'll get to slightly more regular posting soon. I try to post every three or four days, so we'll see! At any rate, please leave me a review letting me know what you thought! I always appreciate them. :) I've got a lot of people adding this to their story alerts and favorite story lists, so I must be doing something right. Hee!

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Sam stood in the middle of his motel room. Everything looked exactly the same, but something felt…off. Strange. He couldn't quite place what it was. He went over to the beds and checked them, but found nothing. He checked around the window, too, but again found nothing. The entertainment center…nothing. The bathroom…nothing.

Whatever it was, it was starting to make him a little uncomfortable. He was just about to head outside into the fog to check on the impala—even had his hand on the doorknob—but suddenly the door was opening toward him, and he stumbled back, right into the wall that squared in the entryway. When he looked back up, staring him in the face was Dean, who had his mouth full.

"Don' jus' stan dere, help meh," Dean said. He lifted his arms, one in which were cradled two bags from Burger King. In the other arm's hand he held the drink caddy with their two large sodas.

"All right, Burger King…" Sam took the two bags and headed over to the table, putting them on top of it.

_That_ was what was wrong, he thought. Dean was late with the food.

"What took you so long?"

Dean swallowed what he had in his mouth. "There was some jackass biker going really slow, and I got stuck behind this string of cars, so I couldn't exactly make a turn without taking him out." He dug his hand into one of the bags and retrieved a few fries, shoveling them into his mouth with a somewhat disapproving look on his face. "Kinda wanted to, though. Man, I hate bikers. Think they own the road…"

Both Winchesters took a seat at the round table, leaning back comfortably in the chairs while they dined on their delicacy of the evening. Like usual, Dean had gotten his double whopper with cheese, while Sam feasted on a Tendercrisp chicken sandwich. It had been hours since either of them had last eaten, and even if it wasn't exactly good for them, that didn't matter. It just tasted good. No, it tasted _great_.

"For what it's worth," Sam began, "next time? Just mow him over. I was _starving_."

"Yeah, I just might." Dean took a long drink from his soda. It ended up going down the wrong way, and soon he was leaning forward and coughing. Sam just laughed at him, which made the older hunter a little angry. "Not…funny…!" he managed between coughs and deep breaths. After a minute he seemed to finally regain control, though his eyes were watering and his face was a little red. "Bitch," he spat out.

"Jerk," Sam replied immediately. "Don't inhale it next time and maybe that won't happen."

Dean scoffed some. "Whatever. I don't _inhale_ my food. I'm not you, Sam. Human garbage disposal."

"Yeah, yeah."

The two of them went back into silence as they continued eating their food. With the way they were sitting, Sam had his back to the motel room's window, while Dean was facing it. The younger hunter was dipping some of his fries into a little puddle of ketchup when he felt the sudden urge to look up at his brother. In doing so, he noticed that Dean was staring outside. Curiosity getting the better of him, Sam turned his head and glanced out the window.

Standing outside eerily still and with a blank look on his face was Adrian, the guy from the club.

Dean appeared about as confused as Sam felt. The two shared a look.

"…Dude. Who's the creepster standing outside our hotel window?" Dean asked through still lips, keeping his eyes on the window.

Sam turned his head away. "That's some guy I met at the club last night. He hit on me. Thought I was gay."

Dean grinned cheekily. "What, you mean you aren't?"

"Damn it," Sam said in mild frustration. He threw a napkin at the shorter one, whose grin turned into a smirk.

"Aw, c'mon, Sammy. The fairy tales, the plaid shirts, the _feelings_…you play a pretty unconvincing straight guy. You should just save yourself the trouble and come out. I'd still love ya. Wouldn't undress around you, but…" Dean continued to smirk, clearly amused with himself.

"Whatever." Sam shook his head and looked away from Dean, but the inexplicable draw of the one standing outside at the window caused him to return his attention to Adrian. "Why is he still out there?" he asked, blatantly staring.

"Got me," Dean said with a shrug. "Maybe he wants in your pants."

"Well, he's not getting in them."

But again came a baffling desire to continue watching him. Sam couldn't seem to pull his gaze away. Before he knew it, he was standing up.

"Sam?" came the sound of Dean's voice, warily.

Sam didn't respond, instead heading closer to the window. Adrian continued to stare, as if right into his very soul. It made part of him feel uncomfortable, yet he approached even closer.

"Sam?" Dean called again.

Sam heard the sound of the other's chair sliding across the floor as he got up. It didn't stop him from stepping right up to the window. At this point Adrian reached out and put his hands about a shoulder's width apart on the window in front of him. Sam mimicked this.

"Sam, no!"

It all happened in a flash. Adrian's eyes, which had been hidden by glasses up until that point, were suddenly visible. His irises were entirely black, just like his pupils. It was the last thing Sam remembered seeing clearly before the glass of the window shattered and he was thrown back onto the ground. He could feel a weight on top of him, something heavy, but he had lifted his arms up to protect his face from the explosion of shards. They were quickly torn away from him and he realized it was Adrian atop him. Small, pointed horns sprouted up on either side of he other's forehead and he had shrunk somewhat in stature, becoming more demonic in appearance. His clothes were gone, as well, leaving his now pale, almost white skin visible.

Sam could hear Dean's voice in the background yelling, "Sam, no! Come on, Sam! Sammy!" But he didn't understand why his brother wasn't helping him to get the demon off of him. Try as he might, the younger hunter could feel his muscles tightening and becoming heavier, as if someone had replaced them with sandbags that had been filled to the brim and were about to burst.

"Come on, Sam!" Dean shouted. "You can beat him, come on! Wake up! Wake up, Sammy!"

Sam stared in horror as Adrian's once humanoid face turned completely demonic. His brow lowered and his eyes grew in size. Above all, when he opened his mouth, it revealed two rows of razor sharp teeth. The fear that Sam felt had seemingly paralyzed him.

"Sam! _Sammy! _Wake _up_!"

Why did Dean keep shouting that, Sam asked? Wasn't he already awake? He opened his mouth to say something, but found that he couldn't. Instead he felt Adrian moving in, making a slurping sound. Soon thereafter it seemed as if his energy were being taken right from him. Sam could feel himself growing weaker…

"SAMMY! WAKE UP!"

But all of the sudden, that last cry from his brother caused Sam to snap out of it. In an instant he opened his eyes, rejoining the real world and escaping from the dream that he had been experiencing just a moment before. He was still in the motel room, but was in his bed, and atop him was something…something heavy. It took Sam's eyes some time to readjust to everything.

He couldn't move his body.

He heard the sound of something hissing quietly, and in the shadows of the dark room, noticed something lifting itself up and away from his face. That seemed to relax his tightly wound, paralyzed muscles, and after a few shakes Sam had managed to somewhat stumble his way out of the bed. His entire self was groggy from having just awoken from the dream, and of course a demon would take that time to attack.

In a smart move, Sam turned on the end table light, which caused the creature in question to hiss again and pull itself away toward the entryway. This gave the hunter enough time to struggle to his feet. When he caught sight of it, he realized that what he was looking at was none other than what had been in his dream: an incubus.

Feeling disturbed, angry, and most of all, violated, Sam looked at the incubus before him with a glare. Thank God for that protection spell, he thought. It had worked in a strange way, but it had nonetheless done its job.

"You're the one who's been killing all those people."

The incubus didn't respond, and instead reached for the door with its long, nimble fingers. Sam extended a hand, and to his surprise, the incubus cried out, pulling its hand back and holding it to its chest. When Sam tightened his hand into a fist the demon cried out yet again, clutching its hand. That was when he realized that he apparently had some sort of telekinetic grip on the demon. Using the pent-up rage he felt to fuel the fire, Sam focused his eyes on the incubus' neck, releasing his fingers before slowly redoing the balling of his fist. There was a horrific crunching noise as he began to crush the incubus' neck and spine. As Sam lifted his hand he watched the creature rise from the floor, clutching at its throat.

Sam finished the job by hastening his formation of the fist with a quick last movement. The incubus' neck gave a terrible crack before its head lulled to the side. It wasn't until he lowered his hand that the creature lowered to the ground, collapsing gently into a pile of unanimated flesh and bone.

It took him a moment to realize that he had just killed a demon with his powers. There was still a thick haze in Sam's mind from the dream. It was just as vivid as the previous ones, although the fact that something seemed distinctively odd about it remained pertinent to the young hunter. Were his dreams trying to tell him something? What time was it, he wondered?

He glanced at the clock. 6:30 AM.

That wasn't the first time he had woken up at 6:30, and now that he caught notice of it, it surely wasn't going to be the last. There was a significance behind it that would need to be checked out further as soon as possible. For now, though, Sam needed to take a minute to breathe and recuperate. He had just been attacked by a demon and had managed to choke it to death.

Sam nodded, as if to confirm this all to himself.

It was stupid of him not to think that it could have been an incubus. They weren't as common as succubae, but that didn't mean they weren't out there. He should have expected something like that. Dean would have.

Sam rubbed his eyes. Dean. Dean had been the one in his dream to tell him to wake up…had been the one who finally got him _to_ wake up. Was the protection spell designed to work that way? Was it designed to let the succubus or incubus into your dream, so you could identify it and kill it? He didn't know. All he knew was that Dean had saved his life, and in reality, he wasn't even there. Leave it to his brother to save him without even being around.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam murmured to himself.

Now, he thought, he just had to find a way to get rid of the body.

Knowing that the only way to truly kill an incubus was to burn it, Sam put on some pajama pants—having been traipsing around in his boxer briefs due to laziness the night before—and went out to the impala to get a large plastic bag and a lighter. It was going to be hard to destroy the demon properly and safely, but some half hour later, Sam had managed to do so. He hid near one of the motel's large trash receptacles and lit the incubus ablaze. Afterward, he gathered the remains with a piece of cardboard, poured them in with the rest of the garbage, and then headed back to his room.

There was no way that he could go back to sleep, he told himself. Not after that. But what was more, the severity of the situation had hit him while he burned the incubus' body. He had used his powers to kill something. It wasn't so much the fact that he had killed that was note-worthy to him; no, rather, it was the fact that his powers _alone_ had done it. Sam could recall the tingling sensation that swept through his body as he tightened his hand into a fist, consequently squeezing the life out of the demon. There had been no pain at all in his head this time. Not even the slightest inkling of it.

But what surprised him the most was that he had done it without really thinking. It all came strangely…naturally.

Ruby's words suddenly rang in his head. _You're a natural_.

Sam sighed. Did he want to be a natural? The answer was a quick, resounding yes. Yes, Sam wanted to be a natural. He wanted to have confidence in the fact that he could control these powers and use them to save his brother's soul. Because without confidence, all he was left with was that crippling fear and sense of loneliness that he had felt while cradling Dean's body. And he didn't want to go back to that Sam. Granted, he hadn't made leaps and bounds away from him, but he most certainly had gone a distance. Retreating to who he used to be would only make things worse.

Normally, after something like what he had just done, he would feel a sense of goodness wash over him—a ghost of a prideful feeling that would remind him that what he was doing was for the better of the world. But this time, he didn't really feel it. He didn't really feel like celebrating, either. What would he even do if he chose to, anyways? Sam had been avoiding alcoholic drinks as best he could over the past couple of days, giving in only once at the club the night before—although he couldn't even finish that drink, much to his chagrin—because he knew that indulging even slightly would bring crashing down his whole fragile semblance of being okay. He had made that mistake once. He wasn't going to make it again.

Sam just couldn't do this right now. He couldn't hunt, not with worries of Dean looming over his head. While hunting had given him a brief period of relief from dealing with the whole "saving his brother's soul" ordeal, with the death of the demon, his mind's focus returned completely to saving Dean. It had intermittently been drifting that way anyways, but now it didn't have to worry about trying to split its attention.

Before he could do anything else, he needed to save Dean.

At least he had _something_ good going for him at that moment. Having used his powers as he did—without pain and without triggers—proved that he could do it. And if he could do that, then he could learn to call for his brother's soul. And becoming capable of calling would ultimately bring Dean back to him.

Sam went and took a shower to rid himself of the feel and smell of soot that clung to his body. When he came back out, he headed over to his bed and dropped himself onto it, belly resting flat against the somewhat rough surface of the harshly starched comforter. All he could do now was try and practice more in order to become even more comfortable using his powers. That last session with Ruby had obviously helped more than he thought it would.

Part of him was concerned, however, that in becoming more comfortable with his powers, that he would end up like the rest of the special kids. He had feared this before but tried to give it little mind. Sam had been flip-flopping on things so much lately that adding one more thing to the mix seemed too much. Thankfully, there was a larger part of him inside that managed to squish that fear and remind him that he was _different_ from them, that he _wouldn't_ end up like them, and that he was fearing nothing, which was a waste of time and energy.

To his surprise, the longer he lay on his bed, thinking, the more and more tired he became. Soon, before he realized it, his heavy lidded eyes slowly closed, and Sam drifted off to sleep.

. . .

It had been well over a week since Sam had last spoken to Ruby.

He had woken up sometime in the mid-afternoon after having killed the succubus, thanks to a disturbingly sudden and overwhelming urge to go and see his brother in their dad's lock-up. With nothing to do coming to mind then other than to practice his powers, he had decided that a break was in order, and headed over there. It was the first time he had gone inside since he had first put Dean in there, and in walking inside, he had felt a strange sense of anxiety…something he couldn't really explain.

Dean's body had looked worse for wear, but that much was to be expected. After all, it wasn't as if he were magically going to be fixed somehow by being put in the freezer. Sam hadn't really expected that, and nor was he banking on it. It had mostly been to preserve him.

But seeing his brother's body had prompted him to come back the next day and finally sew up his wounds, as well as line the freezer with different roots and plants that he knew would keep things pure and clean. Had anybody walked in, they probably would have thought it sick, twisted and demented; for him, it was simply necessary. If he was going to reintroduce his brother's soul into his body, then he needed to make sure that it was functional. It certainly wasn't going to heal itself like it normally would, not unless it had life and vitality in it. And, of course, it didn't. Thus, it needed help.

Sam knew that, at least for the first couple of days, things would be excruciatingly painful for Dean. His brother would deal, though. He always did after these sorts of things.

Part of Sam was thankful for the fact that Ruby hadn't shown up to talk the night he came back from stitching Dean up, because it had given him a chance to look up the one thing that he hadn't even really thought about since this whole thing began: how he was going to reunite Dean's soul with his body. Sam had spent hours upon hours trying to find whatever he could online that dealt with making the connection—spells, potions, enchantments, anything at all. His first search had resulted in a big, fat zero amount of hits. Plus, no matter how hard he wished for a nugget of information to appear on them, there were only so many websites he could trudge through that were littered with fortune, happiness and love spells. If he ever needed any of those, then he knew where to look, but…

With the Internet having let him down, Sam had decided later that week to go and check out the local public library. There, he had spent nearly an entire day collecting books and researching them for any possibility of forging a bridge between the body and the soul. So many books were there, but they all told him the same thing, which he unfortunately already knew: the body and soul were two separate entities, and when one's life was over, their soul detached from their body, and either ascended—or descended—to its permanent destination. Or, in the case of two of the books he had read, it was reincarnated into something different. Since he knew for a fact that Dean's soul was in Hell, he didn't really have to worry about that happening.

…Though for some reason, the odd thought of Dean being reincarnated as some kind of animal had popped into his head, bringing him momentary amusement and relief from all of his exhaustive reading.

Sam returned to the library every day for nearly the rest of the week. It wasn't until the last Friday of the month—which was the 30th—that he happened across something that would finally give him the answers he had been searching for. In his first trip to the library, Sam had used the computer database in order to look through the books, and found the name of one that had to do exactly with what he wanted. To his disappointment, it had already been checked out. But, when he went in Friday morning, it happened to be sitting right there on the shelf, waiting for him. Given that he didn't have a library card, there was no way for him to check it out, and so after hastily snatching it up, he went upstairs to the third floor, where all the microfilm and periodicals were, in order to research it more intently, just like he had with all the other books.

The topic of this book in particular was spirituality in aboriginal cultures across the world, ranging anywhere from deep in the heart of South America to the vast expanses of Australia. It was Sam's hope that somewhere within the pages, he could find maybe one or two, if not more, different rituals that could be used in reuniting the soul with the body. Cultures untouched by colonization and technology often had the key to these kinds of things, and for hours, Sam poured all of his attention into the thick tome of a book, scribbling down notes of all kinds on the tablet of paper he had brought with him.

By the time the announcement over the PA system came to let him know the library was closing soon, he had filled up several pages with information, all of which pertained to things he thought might work in not only reuniting Dean's body and soul, but also how to keep his soul protected and contained while doing so. That was another step that Sam had seemingly forgotten to further investigate. There were so many things that he had forgotten to read up on, really, throughout this entire thing. But it was as he had thought earlier—he was still adjusting to all the changes, even this late on. Just when he thought he was doing better, he would realize something he had forgotten to do, and thus would have to go back and get it done. He couldn't be as on top of it as he used to be, not with having to readjust so often to a different situation.

Sam had pretty much sucked the book dry of anything it had to offer, as he didn't want to have to come back to the library any more after that day. He was beginning to feel a distinct sense of pressure, like he was in a time crunch…and that, if he didn't save Dean's soul soon, it would be forever lost. It had been nearly a month. He had to continually remind himself that this wasn't so much a matter of doing it _quickly_ as it was doing it _right_. One mistake could foul up the entire plan, and then what would he do? What would happen to Dean?

He was tired. No, he was more than just tired; he was _beat._ Was it really already five o'clock? He had come in as soon as the library had opened that morning, and had spent his entire day there. His eyes were dry and his hand was cramping something terrible, but ultimately, it had all been worth it. With the information that he had now, he felt like he had truly helped to better solidify his plan.

Now, he could really work on putting it into action.


	7. Fletcher

**Author's Notes:** I hit a snag in my writing, so that's why this has been delayed. I got sick, and it still hasn't gone completely away, which has shot my focus and made writing chapters eleven and twelve a complete nightmare. But! I'm getting through them. Thus, chapter seven here. ;) I've got the next week and a half off from work, which is exciting, so hopefully I'll be able to get lots more written. The ideas are all there, and it's all laid out...it's just filling it all in!

Thanks for being so patient! I appreciate it. Comments, too, are always appreciated!

* * *

Sam returned to his motel room, struggling with a bag from Kentucky Fried Chicken as he tried to open the door with his key. It took a little finagling but after a moment he got it, and he used his booted foot to push the door open. To his surprise, the light was already on in the room, and sitting in the chair, feet up on the table while watching television, was Ruby.

"God, it's about time you got here," she said to him over her shoulder. She turned her attention back to the television and pressed the mute button. She was watching Will and Grace. "Your place is a mess, did you know that? You should clean every once in a while."

"I didn't expect to have company," Sam said to her, walking over to the table and putting the bag down on top of it. And really, to him, it wasn't a mess. There weren't wrappers or rotten food anywhere; it was mostly just clothes, most of which were from today, because he needed to do laundry. Badly.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think we could talk at the library. So I came here and waited for you. I didn't expect you to stay there the _entire time _it was open, though." Ruby raised an eyebrow, glancing briefly at the bag. "Or make a side trip."

Sam furrowed his brow in irritation. "Sue me, I was hungry. I was busy researching things. Where the hell have _you_ been, by the way? 'Cause, I don't remember seeing you around for, oh, I dunno, the past week or so. I thought you'd"—he used air quotes—"come back sometime soon?"

Ruby shook her head, not looking fazed in the slightest. "I was doing recon, Sam. And sometimes, that takes a little more time than expected. Sorry if I left you all to your lonesome for too long." With a roll of her eyes she moved to stand. "Ugh, the smell of that wannabe chicken is making me sick."

"Suit yourself." The hunter sat himself down and pulled open the bag, tugging out his KFC bowl from inside. It had cooled some since he got it, but that was fine, he thought. They were always too hot anyways. Popping the plastic top off, he then grabbed his fork and dug right in, pulling out a piece of chicken that was covered in cheese, mashed potatoes and speckles of corn. It was heaven in his mouth. As he chewed, he deliberately looked at Ruby with a pleased expression.

"God, grow up," she muttered. In a somewhat different tone, a more business-like one, she said, "So, you were researching things. Good for you. Researching what? Did you manage to find the succubus?"

Sam waited to swallow before he said anything. "It was an incubus, actually. And yeah, I did manage to find it. And I killed it." Though for some reason, he refrained from saying how. He went on to say, "And I was looking up ways of making sure I can recombine Dean's soul with his body. I realized earlier on this week that I hadn't checked up on that." He took another bite and was silent while he chewed and swallowed it. "I couldn't find anything on the Internet, so I had to head to the library. I found a lot of info, but it wasn't until today that I actually got what I needed. Plus, one of the books I read also mentions ways of keeping souls safely protected while you perform the ritual."

Ruby looked impressed. "Wow, Sam. I'm pleasantly surprised by your sudden fervor, here. Sounds like you got more done in the week I was gone than in the entire time we've been at this. Good job on it all." Her tone was mildly sarcastic, but it always was, which was why Sam didn't take it as offensively as he probably would have before.

He ignored it. "I want to save my brother. Tonight, I'm gonna review the info, come up with the best and most plausible ways, then go and grab all of the things I need to do it." He ate another large bite, which took him a moment to finish. "So, you gonna tell me what you mean by recon, or is this some kind of test of my mental powers?"

She snorted. "Well. There's one thing in all of this that you haven't really realized since we started talking about it. Do you remember when I said that you'd need to find a portal, or some kind of gateway, for you to call Dean's soul to?"

Sam's mouth was half full as he mumbled, "Yeah."

Ruby folded her arms over her chest. "That's gonna have to be the Devil's Gate, Sam. I…was investigating the whereabouts of the Colt."

That was enough to catch his attention completely. And oddly enough, it wasn't the mentioning of the gate that did it. What did was that she was trying to find the Colt. He paused.

"Wait." His head tilted forward ever so slightly. "You mean to say that…you tried to find the Colt. The one that Bela _sold_. The one that's _probably _overseas."

"It's not any_more_," Ruby said flatly. "I did my fair share of research, too, Sam. Word is, when Bela bit the dust, Lilith raided her memory for the location of the Colt and was able to track down the guy she sold it to. I guess she was afraid you were gonna try and find it before her. The only other thing I know is that she's given it to a demon somewhere for safekeeping…a crossroads demon."

"How did you find all this out?" Sam asked incredulously.

"I have my sources. How I got the information isn't important. It's what we do with it that is." She paused again, a disbelieving look appearing on her face. "You know, I expected a bit more of a reaction out of you when I mentioned that we would have to reopen the Devil's Gate."

"Whatever it takes to save Dean," Sam replied without hesitation. He stared at Ruby momentarily, then tore his gaze away from her and focused it on his bowl, from which he took another bite.

"Hm." She watched him eat a few more bites, then made another considering sound. "Well, then I guess the next thing on our list of stuff to do is to find this demon. I couldn't get any more information as to where it is, so…"

"We could probably summon any one we wanted to, anywhere, and threaten them to get the information."

"Oh, Sam." Ruby gave a quiet laugh, almost as if she couldn't believe what he had said. "This shoot first, ask questions later attitude is _so_ not you. Don't be like your brother. Keep your wits about you, huh? Tell you what." She stepped closer. "How about we sleep on it, and then I'll come back tomorrow and we can figure out a plan from there?"

Halfway through his bowl already, the young hunter had to stop, both due to slight indigestion and a need to talk. He didn't really want to, however, given how insulting Ruby had just been to him. He swore, if he didn't need her…

"Sounds good," he settled on saying, keeping any and all irritation out of his voice, which surprised even him. "We can shoot for ten tomorrow morning. How's that sound?"

"Good by me." Ruby pulled away quickly, letting out a disgusted sound from having been so close to the food. With her fingers on the knob, she added, "Night, Sam."

He waved to her good night, waiting for the shutting of the door before he reached over to the other side of the table to grab the remote. He unmuted it just in time to hear the catchy theme to Will and Grace.

. . .

It was warm. Warmer than it should have been, Sam thought, given that he had put on his air conditioner before going to bed that night. When he opened his eyes, he immediately realized that he wasn't in his hotel room like he should have been. He tried to glance around him but his vision seemed to be stuck in place.

He was trapped in a corner of what looked like a run down service station. The light bulb above was dangling by a few cords and had no cover whatsoever. It crackled as it suddenly came to life, illuminating the small space. All the walls, flooring and fixtures in the room were made of a very old wood that was gray in color and rough in texture. Thanks to the light, he could make out the counter in the far right corner, as well as the register, a magazine rack, a map that hung on the wall, and a calendar beside it. But it felt as if someone had blurred his vision, which in turn caused him to see things more blurrily than normal.

From his right came a burst of bright light, more so than from the lamp. His immediate desire was to look to its origin, but he found that he still couldn't. Instead he had to wait for the light to disappear. In its wake came an older looking man. He was about fifty years of age, Sam would guess, and was wearing a pair of blue overalls that hung loosely over a flannel button-up shirt and jeans. He had on a trucker hat and had a can of Coca Cola with him. What was he doing?

Sam watched him go over to the register and do what he assumed was getting it ready. At this point, his view was blacked out. When he regained it, he was closer to the man now, almost beside him, but was facing the large window across from the counter space. The man walked over to it and jerked at the bottom of the large brown screen that covered it, which caused it to fly upward and reveal the warm sunlight from outside. After his eyesight adjusted, Sam soon verified that he was at some kind of gas station—there were two pumps situated outside underneath a large awning.

But what really caught his attention was the fact that he was also staring at a very visible crossroads. The dirt road that ran parallel to the service station was soon intersected by another going perpendicular to it, just to the right of the pumps.

Why couldn't he move, damn it? Why couldn't he turn his head, see his arms? What was this?

Just then, Sam's vision flashed, and he was now looking at the calendar hanging on the wall. There was a woman wearing a bikini sprawled out sensually over a motorcycle in front of what he assumed was some kind of bar. He didn't get to see it for too long, however, because soon the picture was changing to another thanks to the old man. His view slowly lowered, and he saw that the calendar itself now read "June". Then, just below, in the corner, was the name and address of the place that had made it.

For some reason or another he couldn't make out the address, or the name of the company. But one thing stood out visibly to him: the zip code was 63030.

That was the last thing Sam remembered before abruptly waking up. He was lying on his back in his motel room bed, staring up at the ceiling yet again. It was all still so vividly fresh in his mind when he rolled onto his side in order to see what time it was. Sure enough, it was 6:30 AM. But what he hadn't noticed before with all the times he had woken up—including this one—was that it was also thirty seconds past the minute. Had he checked his watch, he would have caught it.

Was that it, he wondered? Was that why he kept waking up from every dream he had at exactly six thirty in the morning? Was he supposed to see that zip code? And what was more, was it because of his power that he saw all that he did? These didn't feel like those waking dreams or visions that he had suffered before. In fact, he didn't even have that aching pain in his head like he did with them.

What did this mean? What was his mind trying to tell him? Was he just making things up? Or was it legit?

There were so many questions that Sam needed to have answered at that moment, but none for which he had anything. It would make sense for him to be having visions. After all, they did come to him passively, and he had had prophetic dreams before. There had to be some connection between his constantly waking up at six-thirty and the fact that the zip code of the place he had seen was 63030. Plus, he had seen a crossroads…all of these didn't add up to coincidence. And Sam didn't believe in coincidences, anyways.

After taking a few moments to fully wake up and recover from his vision, the young hunter rolled to the side of his bed and leaned over it to the floor, snatching up his laptop and bringing it onto the bed with him. He opened it and booted it up, waiting for it to load completely before he brought up his browser so he could do a search.

"What city and state does that zip code belong to…" he murmured to himself, rubbing his still tired eyes with his right index finger. The beginning of the code sounded strangely familiar, but he didn't know why. He soon found out, however, because a search to find the location barely took him a minute. It was a Missouri zip code, and apparently had been assigned to the city of Fletcher. In his mind's eye Sam saw a flash of the calendar again. Even if it had gone by so quickly and was blurry, he could see it, just barely. The name Fletcher rung a bell. He didn't know why, but it just did.

He was just going to have to trust himself on this one.

And Ruby was, too, for that matter.

After the draining experience that was the day before, Sam spent most of his morning lazing about and reading up on Fletcher, Missouri. There really wasn't much to name in the city, which he thought was a smart move. Lilith had probably thought he would check out all of the hotspots for demonic activity around the country before even thinking of checking some quiet town in the middle of nowhere.

Around nine, Sam headed into the bathroom for a shower. He resurfaced about a half hour later, and was just about to dress himself when his phone started to ring. Curious as to who would be calling at the time, he picked it up, looking at the name and feeling his heart drop again.

Bobby. Of course.

Sam swallowed long and hard before pressing the send button to accept the call. When he lifted it to his ear he said, "Yeah, Bobby? What's up?"

Bobby sounded irritable. "What's up? What's up with you, Sam? Why haven't you called? You been too busy?"

"Believe it or not, yeah," Sam said. He sniffed. "This whole ordeal with the succubus took a lot longer than I planned on it taking."

"Have you even _found_ it yet?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"Yeah, yeah, I've found it, Bobby. It just…well, it took me a while to get used to not having Dean to talk to." He hated admitting that, but at the same time, it was Bobby. If he couldn't say it to him, who _could_ he say it to? It took him a second before he said anything else, because the sudden statement had left him feeling open and vulnerable, and so he needed to close himself up again. "So I had to come up with a fool-proof plan that would allow me to kill her without getting trapped by her."

"I told you I woulda helped you, Sam. You should've called."

Bobby sounded disappointed, and that made the young hunter's insides lurch a little. "Listen, Bobby, I needed to do this on my own. How am I gonna learn to do it without Dean if I go crawling for help every time I get stuck?" Granted, in his opinion he hadn't gotten stuck at all. Bobby may have thought otherwise, however.

There was a pause. Then, the older man sighed. "You know you can always call for help, Sam, whenever. Just for future knowledge." Something in his tone of voice told Sam that that specific topic was over. Bobby went on to say, "Anyway. I think I may have a lead on how to get Dean back."

Even though Sam had a plan entirely set out, he felt a swell of sudden hope at Bobby's words. For just the briefest moment, he wished that what Bobby was going to say would be the be-all-end-all, that they could do that instead of him having to drive all over the place for reasons part of him wasn't even sure about. He couldn't help but have that little bit of complete and utter child-like hope.

"What?"

"Well, I caught a demon that recently escaped from Hell, and according to him, whenever somebody makes an agreement with a crossroads demon, an actual document is created that sorta legalizes it. Without that contract, technically, the deal's null, and Dean's soul would have to be returned."

Sam scrunched up his face in confusion. "But…Bobby. Can you really even trust a demon who says something like that? They lie, cheat, steal…you were the one who told us that. How can we even be sure what he's saying isn't all made up?"

"'Cause, Sam, demons may be bad, but they got rules just like everyone else. Without 'em, their world would be complete pandemonium. There'd be no rhyme or reason…just backstabbing, death and chaos. They gotta have order, too."

Bobby seemed pretty convinced of this, but Sam wasn't sure what to think of it. It all sounded entirely too fishy for his liking. "I dunno, Bobby…" he said, uncertain.

"Now, just bear with me, Sam. I'm not puttin' all my eggs in this basket. Like I said, it _may_ be a lead. I'm gonna check into it further. Anything to save Dean, right?"

Sam felt his stomach lurch again. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Anything."

"That's what I wanna hear. So, you get workin' on killin' that succubus, and _give me a call_ when you've done it, all right?" Bobby spoke insistently, if not a little sternly.

"Yeah, Bobby. I'll be sure to call. I promise."

At that, he hung up the phone. He felt somewhat guilty for having lied to Bobby as he did, but it was better for him to think that Sam was still in New York, trying to kill a succubus, instead of knowing what he was truly doing. If this all panned out, then he was going right to Fletcher, Missouri as soon as possible. He just needed to speak with Ruby first and see what she had come up with, if anything.

Tossing his phone onto the bed, Sam got dressed, then headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth and finish getting ready for the day. About the time that he walked back out to grab his electric razor, there came a knock on the door. He looked down at his watch. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet. It couldn't have been her.

He tentatively moved toward the curtains and lifted one up to see who was standing outside. It was Ruby, looking a little agitated. So Sam walked to the door and opened it for her, stepping back as she all but rushed into the room.

"What's up your butt?" Sam asked, although he immediately regretted it, seeing the look on her face.

"Someone took my _knife, _Sam."

Those words hit him like a ton of bricks. The hunter furrowed his brow immediately, looking completely confused. Not yet another something to stop them in their tracks, he thought. "What?"

"Someone stole my knife. I had it with me, beside me while I slept. It was only for a few minutes anyways, maybe an hour—" Ruby abruptly stopped speaking, setting her jaw tightly. "I don't know who it was, and I have no way of finding out."

"_Why_?" was all Sam could seem to say at that moment.

"Why what?" Ruby asked. "Why did someone steal it? Or why do I have no way of finding out who? No prints, Sam, of any kind. _Nothing_. Not a hair, not a drop of spit, not a thumbprint, nothing. Whoever came in took it nice and clean, right out from under my nose. And why _wouldn't_ someone steal it?"

Sam's first thought was that it was someone like Bela—one who procured extremely rare magical items. There was nothing more mystical than a blade that could kill demons. And motive enough was obvious: this blade was very unique. There could have very well been ulterior ones as well. There were so many possibilities that it was hard to even pinpoint just one. Sam lifted a hand to rub at his eyebrows.

"Are you sure you didn't just…misplace it?" he tried, carefully.

"Of course I'm freaking sure I didn't just misplace it," Ruby spat acidly at him.

He chose to ignore that outburst. "Maybe they stole it for…collateral, or leverage, or something. You piss off any other demons lately?" It was a shot in the dark, but Sam had to try.

"I've pissed off a _lot_ of demons since I decided to start helping you and your brother, Sam. But demons don't usually go after other demons. It's bad playground conduct. You play nice with the children you know, and are mean to the ones you don't. You know?" She shook her head. "It's just so damn strange that not a trace of anything was left behind. Not only that, but I should have woken up when they approached. The fact that I didn't hear them or sense them makes me think that it has to be another demon. And that pisses me off."

Sam didn't know what to say to Ruby then, really.

"Can't you…you know, cast a spell, or something? You _were_ a witch." He paused. "Right?"

Ruby gave him a look that made his insides turn. It was sheer anger, but he didn't think it was entirely aimed toward him. It couldn't have been. Still, she continued to stare at him like that for a few more moments before finally looking to the ground. Sam couldn't help but feel relieved when she did so. "In order to find out who it was, I'd need some piece of evidence left behind by them. Anything. But I searched and searched and searched…and came up with nothing."

"I don't know what to tell you," Sam said then.

"I'm not looking for an answer from you, Sam," Ruby grumbled.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room at that point. The two of them stood there, clearly awkwardly, but neither of them did anything to fix it. They stayed that way for about a minute or two before Sam finally cleared his throat and said:

"So I had a vision this morning."

Ruby, although still glaringly upset about what had just happened, turned her attention to Sam, alleviating her anger some. "And what was it about?"

"About some old man and a gas station."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"No, no, just hear me out. Since Dean…died, every night that I've had a dream, I've woken up from it at exactly six-thirty in the morning, right on the dot. Every night. I don't know how many for sure, but it's been at least five or six times." He took a breath. "In the dream this morning, it was like I was…watching, and not exactly participating, which is completely unlike the other dreams I had." Ruby's expression changed slightly, and Sam went on. "There were flashes when what I saw changed before me, and I saw the old man, the gas station, and then a crossroads. But really, the biggest thing was when my vision showed me the calendar on the wall. The zip code for the place was 63030."

Ruby raised an eyebrow. "And you think it's a sign."

"I _know_ it's a sign," Sam insisted. "Why else would I constantly wake up at six-thirty on the dot _every time_ I dream? Why would the zip code be 63030? Why was there a _crossroads_?" He shook his head. "I don't believe in coincidences. There's something there. I checked it out. It's a town called Fletcher, Missouri."

"That's nearly an entire day's drive away from here," the blond haired demon mumbled. "Would you really be willing to drive that far, and for some eighteen hours, just to check something out?"

"Anything to save Dean," Sam reminded her, almost wearily.

She hesitated momentarily. Then: "That's fine and all, but I've gotta put this on pause, Sam. I have to get my knife back."

"Fine." Sam's answer came so quickly and so unexpectedly flat that Ruby looked at him funny. "Fine," he repeated, arms up briefly. "You go find your knife, and I'll drive to Missouri and see what's going on there. I'll summon you if I need anything."

"You're banking a lot on this vision of yours, Sam."

"So?"

"Don't you know they can be wrong?"

"Mine haven't been yet. And honestly, I'm not willing to take a chance on missing out on this. For all I know, that's the demon that has the Colt. And if it is, then I'm gonna kill it and get it back, and save my brother." Sam's voice lowered as he spoke, becoming more determined and distant. His eyes followed suit.

"You do that, then." Ruby started for the door. "I'm gonna go find my dagger. You…do what you want. Like you said, you can summon me if you need anything."

That was the last thing said between them. Ruby disappeared from the room, after which Sam stared at his bed, at his phone.

He had a long drive ahead of him.


	8. A Trip to Missouri

**Author's Notes:** Over the course of the last week or so, I've come to the realization that I haven't been giving the story as much attention as I should. And I realize, too, that the reason for this is because I'm a little fried. So I've taken some time off from writing to do some random crap, including some RP and some Sims and a bunch of other things. It's kind of nice to just relax. But, this break has made me realize that right now, I don't really FEEL like writing. So, I've gotten to about...chapter thirteen? I believe it is, in my story, and once I post that, I'm going to place the story on hiatus until season 4 comes out and my Supernatural juices get pumping again. Granted, at that point it's going to be AU (not that it isn't already!) but, you know how it goes. ;) I hope you all still read it. In fact, I would greatly appreciate it!

As always, please don't forget to leave any comments or questions you have in a review. I love reading them :)

* * *

Sam's fingers tightened their grip on the steering wheel of the impala as he lightly pressed his foot against the brake. He was just coming off of the interstate, with the sound of Kansas' _Carry on my Wayward Son _coming somewhat quietly from the radio. He arrived in Missouri sometime just past eight that morning. Tiredness stung his eyes and had made him almost want to pull to the side of the road several times on his long trip, but nothing was going to stop him. Not then, and most certainly not now. He was on a mission. This crossroads demon was going to answer any and all of his questions, and then give him the Colt.

She had no choice.

Having used mapquest to find himself a motel, the young hunter drove with a near zombie-like tired expression of determination on his face. Once at the motel he pulled into the lot and parked, grabbing his duffel bag and phone. He headed into the lobby, got himself a room, and had barely made it to the bed before he collapsed onto it. It wasn't a problem usually for him to be up for so long—he was counting somewhere past twenty-four hours now—but the fact that he had been driving for majority of the time was what had gotten him so exhausted. He had taken breaks to pee, but those had been few.

His stomach growled viciously at him, wanting him to feed it. Sam hadn't eaten anything of substance since his breakfast sandwich sometime…God, he couldn't remember. It had been somewhere in Indiana. Or maybe it was somewhere when he had crossed the border into Missouri. Wherever it had been, it had been long ago, and now he had to choose between giving his body some much needed rest, or some nourishment.

Dean would have probably killed him if he knew what Sam was doing to himself over all of this. But Sam had made it to Missouri by the first of June, and that was all that mattered. Maybe the day he arrived would prove to not have any importance, but he wasn't going to risk it. All the signs had been pointing to this location, and the calendar had just been changed to June…

He would think about it all later. Right now, what he needed was a short nap and then something to eat.

But exhausted as Sam was, sleep didn't come to him like he wanted it to. He experienced all the signs of it arriving: he felt the normally unnoticeable pulsing waves of blood flowing through him, the heaviness behind his eyes, and the tiredness in his muscles and bones. It seemed, however, that the longer he lay there, the stronger each sensation became, and that sleep just wasn't going to come to him. That was when his stomach gave another long, angry growl.

"Damn it," Sam muttered to himself. He didn't really want to eat right now. He wanted to sleep.

He knew that he needed to listen to his body, though. If he didn't, then it was only going to make things even _more_ difficult. With that in mind, the young hunter got up, keys still in hand, and wandered out of the motel room and onto the walkway that overlooked the parking lot. He knew he had seen a vending machine around here somewhere…

Sure enough, when he glanced over the edge of the banister and down to the right, near the stairs was a pair of vending machines. He approached them after going down to street level and slipped a dollar bill into one of them. There were many options. Far too many, he thought. In fact, it was a little ridiculous and overwhelming to his feeble mind at that moment. He ended up choosing a bag of Fritos mostly out of uncertain desperation, and, clutching it in his hand, the tired giant made his way back up the rickety metal stairs and walked down the pathway to his room, stepping back inside and shutting the door behind him.

This room was a lot different than the ones he was used to, now that he had a chance to look at it in further detail. It was barely bigger than a closet. The single bed took up most of the room, and what didn't, the television on top of the dresser and nightstand did. And the bathroom wasn't even really big enough to be considered one, in his opinion. It appeared to have nothing more than a stand-alone shower and a stand-alone sink, neither of which looked particularly appealing. He didn't even realize a toilet was in there until he stepped inside and looked behind the door, where it was hiding. All of this, mixed with the horrifically golden wallpaper in the room itself and the pea green stripes on the walls in the bathroom, made this like a room from decorator's Hell.

Well, Sam thought tiredly, with any luck, he wouldn't be here for very long.

With bag of Fritos in hand, he went and lay down on the bed, resting his head against the not surprisingly uncomfortable pillow. But almost like a doll, when his head hit the fabric, his eyes closed, and he felt an immediate wave of fatigue wash over him. He fumbled with the bag of Fritos for several moments until it seemed almost futile. The damn things weren't going to open. He gave up quietly, just letting the bag lie on his stomach as he found himself falling victim to his body's need for sleep.

Sam awoke from his early morning nap sometime around noon, only realizing the time when he glanced at his watch on his wrist. As he did so, it gave a beep for the new hour. Outside, the sun was shining, and it hurt his eyes. He gave a loud groan to no one in particular while rolling over and trying to cover his face from the beams of light that were pouring into his room. There was a sudden crunching sound beneath him, followed by a loud pop, which caused his heart to jump. It took him a moment to realize that he had just destroyed his bag of Fritos, which, when he hurriedly moved to sit up, were now crushed and had spilled out onto the top of the bed.

What a mess, he thought, somewhat irritated.

Giving a quiet grunt, Sam began to clean up the chips' mess. Thankfully, it didn't take long. Afterward, he climbed out of the bed and over to the window where he tugged down the blinds, feeling immediate relief from the brightness. It really wasn't so much a matter of him not being able to handle them at all so much as it was that his eyes weren't properly adjusted after having just woken up. Now shaded, the young hunter was able to quicker recover from his apparently deep sleep. He hadn't _expected_ to fall asleep so suddenly after the struggle that he had had earlier in the day. But then, Sam's body tended to do things that even _he_ had a problem fully understand, so he supposed it wasn't entirely impossible for him to be exhausted one moment and unable to sleep, and then the next, drop like a narcoleptic.

He had planning to do. He was here in Fletcher now, but he needed to find out the location of the crossroads he had seen in his vision. He hadn't caught sight of anything like it on his way into town, which led him to believe it was probably on the outskirts on the other side of it. If there had been any other clues in his vision, he was hard pressed to find them.

But the more he thought about it all, the more dream-like it seemed to feel. In spite of this, he was determined to believe that what he had seen was, in fact, a vision. Still, there was a nagging, doubtful part inside of him, telling him that he was being foolish; that what he was doing was a complete and utter waste of time. That little nugget of reservation had been present in him throughout this entire ordeal, and it was really starting to get to him.

This is no time to doubt yourself, he reminded himself firmly. As his active powers had grown, so had his passive ones. He _had_ to believe what he saw was a vision. If he didn't…he didn't know what would happen. He couldn't take that chance.

Since the only way to really find out where the crossroads was located was to drive around, Sam checked to make sure he had his keys, wallet and knife, then headed out of his room and toward the car. At that moment, his stomach gave a low, whining groan. He forgot that he had yet to eat anything, despite having just crushed his bag of chips he was going to call breakfast not too long ago. He decided he would just get it along the way.

Maybe there was a McDonald's nearby.

. . .

To Sam's relief, it hadn't taken long to find out where the crossroads in his vision was. Given his ability to weave tales quite easily, he had asked the McDonald's employee as to the location of the gas station, mentioning that he had heard it had cheap gas. Given the outrageous prices of it lately, anything helped, he had added. She had informed him that it was on the other side of the town, just as he had suspected, and that one could get there simply by following the signs that would lead them further south, toward Washington county. According to her, it wasn't all that far away, and in fact Mac—the man who ran the gas station—made a pretty penny, being the only gas station on the border of the two counties.

After eating some semblance of a brunch—with a burger, some fries and a coke, along with a hash brown patty—Sam drove up and through the crossroads, wanting to make sure that it was easy to access. Sure enough, it had been. He wished that he could have done all that he needed to right then and there, but it was some time around one in the afternoon, and the last thing he needed was for everything to occur in broad daylight, where any passing cars could see it. He didn't think tonight was going to go smoothly. In fact, he was pretty sure of it.

That was one of the main reasons he had gone back to his room for some sleep. He needed to be on his toes with this demon, because if he wasn't…it could end up disastrously. Ruby's words echoed in his head again:

_You're banking a lot on this vision_.

It was to that thought that Sam fell asleep, and to that thought that he awoke. When he went into the bathroom and splashed some cool water over his face, he realized that his heart was beating faster than usual. He stared at himself long and hard in the mirror. The lack of a proper diet and worry since Dean's death had given him somewhat dark, puffy circles under his mildly blood-shot eyes, and he hadn't shaved that morning, which put some shadow on his face. His hair needed to be cut, too, but that seemed so minor that it didn't even cross his mind.

He knew he was worried. But for some reason, he couldn't completely admit it to himself. Or he simply _wouldn't_.

By the time that Sam had gotten himself completely ready to go, it was nearing nine o'clock. Despite the fact that he hadn't done much, time had nonetheless seemed to fly by him. He was just about to head out the door when, hand on the doorknob, he hesitated.

Should he summon Ruby?

He wasn't sure. She had said that he could if he needed her, but he didn't. No, he was certain he could do this on his own. He had before. Granted, he had had the Colt then. That had given him a strong sense of security. Not having that now had greatly diminished his certainty. The only thing that had made it come back somewhat was the fact that he had his powers. He felt more confident in them than before, which he assumed was due to his having killed with them. It shouldn't have been something he was proud of, really, but he was, and he wasn't going to let anyone tell him otherwise.

After what felt like too long debating on whether or not to summon her, Sam decided against it, going down the stairs to get into the impala. He then drove the twenty odd minutes it took to get to the crossroads from before.

It looked much different at night. There were only two or three light posts that stood along the intercrossing streets, all of which cast circles of artificial light onto the dirt and gravel below them. The gas station lights were all out, giving it an eerily abandoned look. In a town like this, Sam wasn't surprised that something like that would close down at the given time. He was glad that it was closed, too, because it made his job easier.

He parked in the lot near the gas station, gathering all of the necessary tools to summon the crossroads demon in a little box. With it in hand, he headed into the center of the crossroads, digging into the dirt with his hands in order to create a little hole. He tossed the box inside of it and then covered it up again, patting it firmly to make sure the contents were snugly in there. The last time he had done this, he had felt the same kind of anxiety as he did now, but there was more determination and desperation in him than there had been back then. There was also more anger.

Sam had just moved to stand completely when he heard the sound of quiet footsteps behind him. When he turned and looked over his shoulder, standing before him was a woman dressed in a casual black evening dress, the somewhat thin straps draped over her smooth, bare shoulders. The front was cut somewhat low and his eyes dipped downward instinctively as he followed the contours, but he quickly brought them back up to look at her face. She had a classic beauty that reminded Sam somewhat of a young Joan Collins, and her long brown hair cascaded both over her front and back.

She smiled at him. "Well, well. Look who it is."

"Look who it's not," Sam retorted, raising an eyebrow. "Unless you somehow managed to get out of Hell. Which I doubt."

"Always a testy one." The demon clasped her hands in front of her, approaching Sam further. He stood his ground. "No, Sam, you're thinking of my friend. Who you mercilessly _killed_."

"She deserved it."

"I beg to differ." The demon's tone changed considerably, becoming drier, almost angry. Her red eyes flashed briefly before returning to their previously dark brown color. With it, her tone seemed to soften. "What are you doing here, anyway, little Sammy? You've been pretty quiet since dear old Dean died. We haven't heard of you going out and killing any else of our kind." She paused. "It's almost like you just…gave up. But I know you better. You haven't given up. There's something going on in that cute little head of yours. Why did you summon me?" She slowly shook her head from side to side. "I can't help you get your brother back, if that's what you're thinking."

"Actually, you can." Sam stared with an unnervingly serious look. "I know what you've got."

The demon sounded coy as she asked, "What I've got?"

"You know what I'm talking about. You've got the Colt."

"Why in the world would I have that stupid gun?" She stepped past Sam, causing him to turn quickly on his heels to keep her in his line of sight. "I haven't even _touched_ it in all my life, let alone _seen_ it. Last I heard, it was overseas, sold by that girl who got what's coming to her." An almost morbid smile appeared on the demon's face.

"You're lying," Sam accused.

"And what makes you so sure, huh? What makes you think I have that precious gun of yours?" The demon asked, almost as if egging him on further.

"That's none of your business," Sam replied flatly. "I want it back. And I'm prepared to take it with full force."

"If you know I have it, Sammy, then why don't you just _take_ it from me?" The demon's eyes became fully red again, and an evil smirk appeared on her face as she stepped back from him, giving him a gesture that seemed to say, 'come on'.

Before he knew it, Sam's hand was out in front of him, and he used his telekinesis to knock the demon right off of her feet. She flew back several yards and hit the dirt with a thud and a grunt. Sam watched her as she got up, preparing for her recoil. But nothing came. Instead she just readjusted her dress, brushed it off and looked at him. Then she laughed.

"Oh…oh, this is rich. Look at you, little Sammy boy…finally gave in, didn't you?" She stepped closer, and when Sam lifted his hand, she stopped, then held up her own in a yielding fashion. "I never thought I'd see the day that you'd use your powers. We always thought you were too _good_ for that. Too _righteous_."

"Shut up!"

Sam's barked words were backed up with another forceful blast from him that lifted the demon into the air and sent her sailing through it until she hit the somewhat grassy, weeded area just across the street from the service station. He started walking toward her when he noticed that she was coming at him with an unnaturally quick pace.

"Stop!" he commanded with a resounding voice, his hands held out in front of him. Before the demon was able to get any closer she stopped suddenly in her tracks, as if she had come in contact with an invisible wall. Still keeping up his hands, Sam approached her, brow furrowed in concentration. He could see that there was anger in her eyes at first, but the closer he grew, the more he realized it was now fear.

"I'm not giving you _anything_," the demon spat at him.

"You don't have a choice."

Just like with the incubus, Sam brought one of his hands forward, focusing on the demon's neck as he began to form a fist. She struggled—and he felt it—but she couldn't move still, and now there were pressure marks appearing around her throat. She coughed and struggled to take in a breath.

"How about we do a trade, huh?" he asked, sounding amused. An impish sort of grin appeared on his face. "You give me the Colt, and I'll give you your life. It's a win-win situation for the both of us. I get what I need, and you get to keep what pathetically is yours."

He loosened his grip on her neck just enough to allow the demon the chance to speak. She inhaled deeply, swallowing roughly before replying almost dejectedly:

"I give you the Colt…and I die anyway."

Her eyes were locked on Sam's, but he couldn't have cared less at that moment. "What? Lilith put you on strict orders not to give it to me? Not surprising. But as you can see,"—he retightened his grip—"I'm not playing games here. I want the Colt. Now tell me where it is."

"I d-don't h-have…" she grunted weakly, "I d-don't have it…w-with me!"

"Then _tell_ me where it _is_." Sam's grip tightened even further, but soon thereafter, lightened.

There was a long pause during which the demon clearly struggled with the grips that Sam had on her. He could see her arms and legs twitching—could _feel_ her fighting in his grasp—and he enjoyed the fact that she couldn't do anything…that she was trapped like the beast she was. It made an eerily wicked smile appear on his face.

"Tell me where it is," he repeated. "I'm only gonna ask one more time."

"It's…it's…"

"Yes?"

"It's buried nearby," the demon finally confessed. There was visible pain in her eyes. "Just underneath the blooming bush clovers."

In that brief moment of confession, Sam's hold on the demon relinquished completely. He turned his head to look at where she had shifted her eyes to, but he couldn't see where she was talking about. This of course was a mistake, because she jumped him right when he looked away, bringing him to the ground with a vicious growl. Sam gave a loud grunt and tried to protect himself from the impact but failed miserably. The crossroads demon, gripping the front of his jacket and shirt, then used her inhuman strength to lift him up and throw him into a nearby collection of shrubs. Sam hit them with a confused groan, arms flailing as he tried to get himself somewhat steady.

Before he knew it he was being punched in the stomach with what felt like a ton of bricks. It knocked the wind out of him and he hunched forward, mouth hung wide open. The crossroads demon backed off him then, for just a second, which was what gave him the chance to take that one much needed breath. His focus wasn't entirely shot, and because of that he was able to stave off her attack with another, less forceful command:

"_Back_."

As if suddenly hit with the force of a wrecking ball, the demon was blasted backward, and she gave a scream.

Ruby was right, he thought momentarily. This was like riding a bike.

This gave Sam a moment to complete his recovery. He stumbled back and fell to his knees beside the bush clover, digging in the dirt with right hand while his left stayed outstretched, holding the demon at bay in the crossroads. He dug furiously, hoping to find the Colt. It was stupid, believing her so easily, but maybe—

Sam's fingers suddenly scratched against something solid. He quickly looked over his shoulder and saw the demon held in place, saw the angry look contorting the curves of her face. A sick sense of satisfaction filled him then, and he turned his attention back to the dirt, digging deeper. After a few clumps of dark earth were thrown to the wayside, Sam revealed what looked like the faded black top of a box. There was no way that he could pull it out with just one hand, but he had no idea how to keep the demon at bay without using the other. He cast his sight back at her, then slowly turned and moved to stand.

"You found what you're looking for," she said through nearly gritted teeth. The closer Sam got, the more he could see her struggling, but to no avail.

"Yeah, I did," he said, almost cockily. "And look at you. Still trapped like the disgusting beast you are. Bitch."

The demon howled, "LET ME GO!"

"_Shut_ up!" Sam reached out for real this time, grabbing the demon's throat with his large, powerful hand. He tightened his grip almost immediately, and also began pushing downward. The demon had no choice but to obey; soon she was on her knees, and Sam, hunched over her, gave her a look that would have disgusted his brother. "You demons are all the same. And I'll be _damned _if I let you get in the way of what I'm doing. Hope you enjoy Hell."

What happened next came so quickly that even Sam didn't quite expect it. Anger coursed through him, pumped in his blood just like adrenaline, and his fingers dug into the demon's neck, almost piercing the tender flesh. He abruptly lifted himself to a standing position and brought the demon with him, and then, with an unexpected amount of strength, tossed her across the street, right into the support pole for the service station's sign. She hit it with a resounding clank, after which he hurriedly ran over to the bushes again, digging in the dirt. It took some effort but he got the box out, failing to notice anything else then. All that mattered was that, when he opened it, staring him in the face was the Colt, looking just like it had right before Bela had stolen it from him and Dean.

Gun in hand, he turned back just in time to catch the demon before she attempted to flee. Sam could see her picking up speed, and in one, clean shot, he sent a bullet right through the back of her head. The momentum of her body sent the demon tumbling forward; she hit the ground face first and with a thud, followed by a crackling sound that was soon taken over by a sizzle.

He stood there for a moment, panting, while he tried to collect himself.

Suddenly, from beside him came the sound of light clapping. Sam turned his flushed face hastily from side to side, but it wasn't until he looked just a little behind him that he saw Ruby walking up the road.

"Good job, Sam," she said. "I didn't expect you to kill her for it. Although, I guess I probably should have. I mean…one bad experience kinda sours the rest, doesn't it? Who needs that many demons at the crossroads, anyways?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. He turned the gun on her. "Ruby, what're you doing here?"

Ruby gave him an irritated look. "Cool your jets, Quick Draw. I just wanted to see if you were right. I doubted you, and…I shouldn't have." When he lowered the gun slowly, she continued on. "I think this might be it."

His response was short. "What?"

She stepped closer to him, sticking her hands into her jean pockets. "I think you might be ready to save your brother."


	9. The Devil's Gate

**Author's Notes:** Here's chapter nine! This is probably the one everyone has been waiting for...I've reread it several times, and rewritten it several times, too, because I wanted a certain scene to be...well, more or less perfect, if I could swing it. And if not perfect, then at least gripping! So with any hope (and crossed fingers!) that's exactly what I've done. I'd love to get everyone's feedback on it, and wanted to say that I appreciate the last few reviews! They're always a good way to start out the day, finding them in my inbox ;)

Enjoy!

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Sam looked at Ruby like she was some kind of alien. His body was still in fighting mode, with adrenaline pumping through him, his blood pulsing in his ears, and his hands gripping tightly around the hilt of the Colt. He furrowed his brow.

"What?" he repeated.

"Are you deaf?" Ruby asked. "I said, I think you might be ready to save your brother."

Something washed over him at that moment. It was almost like a mixture of fear, relief and excitement, with a number of other feelings thrown in there. The possibility that he was ready to save Dean was…well, it was indescribable.

"Do you really think…?"

"Would I have _said_ it if I didn't mean it?" Ruby shook her head. "Sam, you just basically beat your first demon to death with your powers, and didn't even flinch."

"Second," he corrected automatically.

"Second? Wait. You don't mean—" The blond haired demon looked almost surprised, but not entirely in a negative way. "Sam, did you kill the incubus with your powers, too?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. No wonder this was so easy for you." She stepped closer. "I would definitely say you're ready, then. Now more than ever."

"Why now more than ever?" That sounded so corny to him, but he couldn't help asking it. He was hooked, and wanted—no,_ needed_—to know more.

"Because your powers are coming to you like second nature. Before, all you could do was use telekinesis to throw things around. Now you've just told me you _killed_ a demon with your powers, and you just threw another around like some kind of play toy. _And_ you had a vision that led you to the Colt. If we wait any longer…" She paused, as if what she were going to say next wasn't what she truly wanted to say. "Well. I don't think Dean would like that."

Sam unfortunately didn't catch it, hyped up as he was with the prospect of being able to save his brother and finally reuniting his body and soul. There were a few things he needed to gather up for the ritual, but he had absolutely no worries about that. Plenty of occult shops—and even regular shops as well—carried the required materials. What really made the ritual work was the spell that came along with it. Done properly, Sam could make it a very easy transition for his brother back into his body.

"I need to gather up some things and get Dean's body," he explained. "Then we can go to Wyoming, to the Devil's Gate, and I can get him back."

Ruby hesitated for a split second. "If you wanna do it that way."

Since that seemed to be the best route to Sam, the young hunter decided that he was going to go with it. Of course, this meant driving back to New York, and then suffering an incredibly long drive nearly all the way across the country just to get to Wyoming, but he could handle it. He had no choice. Dean had been in hell for a month, and that was far too long for his tastes.

"Come on, then," Sam said, gesturing for Ruby to join him.

"No, I've got something else I need to check up on right now, Sam. I'll meet you back at the motel room in a while. See if you can't get what you need in order to save Dean while I'm gone."

Although somewhat baffled by her sudden withdrawal, Sam didn't hesitate in returning to the impala, where he put the Colt inside the glove compartment, then turned over the engine and roared his way out of there. He had work to do.

. . .

Sam spent the morning that followed gathering up his things from the motel room, checking out, and heading back to New York. Missouri was nice, but Fletcher didn't have a lot to offer in the way of occult items that he needed for the ritual. He figured that New York would have many more shops with plenty to offer.

Having made even fewer pit stops than before, he had made it to New York in record time, arriving early in the morning on the third. He was, of course, just as exhausted as he had been when he made the trip down to Missouri, but there was a kind of giddiness inside of him that kept him from falling victim to the tiredness. That, combined with a refreshing coffee or soda every couple of hours, helped him to stave off sleep just long enough for him to make it to his dad's lock-up. Sam brought his bedroll inside and used it, along with his jacket as a makeshift pillow, to sleep on the floor.

He was full of cricks and pains when he woke up later that early afternoon, but he ignored them completely. On his drive back to New York, the thought had occurred to him that their dad might have had a collection of various ritualistic items, perhaps even including the things he needed for the one he planned on using on Dean. After having brushed the sleep from his eyes, he searched through his dad's stores, but came up with only two things. So, later, once he got some breakfast, Sam searched through the city in order to find everything else that he needed. Thankfully the list was short, and the shops he found were decently stocked. With a little bit of angelica root, some rosemary, and a few other items, he headed back to the lock-up to stock up the car completely.

All that remained was getting Dean in there safely…

When he opened the freezer and saw his brother's body lying in there, he noted that it looked about the same that it had the last time he saw it. He knew that was mostly due to his having tended to his brother's wounds and checking up on him often so that he didn't get freezer burn. It appeared as if the coldness of the freezer had helped the wounds to close up more afterward, as well. For that, he was thankful.

Sam searched for the blanket that he had brought with him in order to wrap Dean's body up safely and hide it from anybody who might be looking in. It took a lot of effort to get it to fit comfortably in the back of the impala, but somehow, he managed. This whole thing was horrifically twisted, but because Sam was so focused on saving Dean, he didn't really notice that, nor did he notice how wholly unnerving it was. Instead all he noticed was that it would look odd for him to travel with a large, body-shaped lump in the back, and so he threw a few others things back there—a few books, a fast food bag or two, and some soda cans—to make it look mostly like just a collective mess of things.

Sam said goodbye to New York not too long after having arrived. Then it was off to Wyoming. The entire trip, including only three or four minor pit stops for brief naps and food, had taken him just two days. He arrived in the southern part of the state in the late evening of the fifth of June. Like with all of his long excursions, he was feeling tired, but there was no time for rest. He shoved any and all fatigue he felt to the back of his mind, willing himself to gain a renewed sense of energy.

And somehow, it had worked. When Sam found the path to the old cowboy cemetery centered amidst the five churches, he felt a burst of power course through him. He didn't know from where, and he didn't know from what, but it had restored him.

The sun was setting in the western horizon, giving the entire space around him a somewhat golden glow somewhat unbefitting for a cemetery. Sam stepped out of the impala and looked around himself. Memories of the year before flooded his mind, and he felt a distinct sense of loneliness pierce his heart. He realized he was staring at the tree he had been forced up against by the Yellow-Eyed demon, where he had seen his father appear, and where he had seen Dean use the Colt to destroy their nemesis once and for all.

Now here he stood, all alone, with nobody to turn to.

He stared into the back seat of the impala. Even though he knew—_knew_ that Dean's body was back there, part of him still expected his brother to come up beside him, clasp his shoulder and tell him that they had some hunt to go and do. One month of being alone couldn't undo the years and years that Sam and Dean had spent together, especially the last three. There simply was no way.

Sam sighed quietly to himself, almost in resignation of it all. He needed to gather the ingredients from the back of the car, needed to prepare Dean's body in a safe place, and then would need to open the Devil's Gate. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of it. Hundreds of demons, specters and all sorts of other evil beings had escaped last time…and they hadn't even found all of _them_ yet. In doing this, Sam was guaranteeing that at least another couple hundred were going to break out of Hell's grasp.

But he had said that he would do anything to save Dean, and he meant _anything_.

Biting back some inexplicably hot tears that came out of nowhere, the young hunter purveyed the area for a few minutes to find a good, protected place where he could put his brother's body. He eventually decided upon a flat spot of dry, yellow grass about thirty feet from the Devil's Gate, which was protected by two large tombstones that faced it. He went and gathered rock salt—along with the other necessary items—from the back of the impala and poured it in a circle around the spot, then proceeded to get Dean's body, carrying it to the little shelter he had made. He laid the body carefully onto the mostly dead grass and then draped the blanket over him, leaving his face uncovered so that he could breathe when the time came.

Somewhere nearby, Sam could hear the loud chirping of the crickets in the bushes, as well as some birdcalls overhead. Their background noises provided him with an incomprehensible sense of comfort. Maybe it was simply because he felt like everything around him was doing its own thing like normal while he did his; like he wasn't being watched. Part of him felt as if he were, although he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He chalked it up to paranoia and a lack of decent sleep.

He headed back to the impala once everything was set in order to gather up the incantation for the ritual that he was going to perform. He had found it deep within the pages of one of his books with Latin spells, and that had only been after several hours of intense searching. He was just about to start it all when he realized that he was missing the most important piece—the Colt. It was still inside the trunk. How he had forgotten that, he wasn't quite sure. There was being scatterbrained, and then there was just being completely forgetful.

Sam turned around on his heels and started for the car, but when he lifted up his head and saw something before him, he stopped dead in his tracks. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

Standing beside the impala with his arms folded over his chest and an irritated, yet disappointed look on his face, was Bobby Singer. Having tracked Sam down by using the GPS in his cell phone, the older hunter had become aware of the fact that Sam was moving cross-country not too long ago. He hadn't thought much of it when he went to Missouri, but the fact that he had quickly gone back to New York, and then through South Dakota—where he hadn't stopped in to notify Bobby of what had happened—to Wyoming, had set off multiple alarms in the older man's head.

He was wearing his usual garb—some jeans, boots and a faded t-shirt with a black vest covering it. What Sam was paying attention to, however, was the way Bobby was staring at him. It was like a bullet through the heart.

"I can't believe you, Sam," Bobby stated after a moment of silence.

Not knowing what to say, the young hunter just stepped onward, approaching the impala's trunk. When he went to lift it, Bobby quickly placed his hand atop it and prevented him from doing so.

"Are you _seriously_ going to do what I think you're gonna do? Are you gonna open up that damn Devil's Gate and try to get your brother's soul back that way?" Bobby scoffed quietly. "What's _happened_ to you?"

Sam simply stared at Bobby after the other spoke, not saying a word. All of those questions were so loaded that he had no idea, really, how to answer _any_ of them. Of _course_ he was doing to do it, and of _course_ he was going to get Dean's soul back that way. And what had happened to him was that his brother had _died_, had left him all alone in the world, and that just wasn't _right_. Dean had sacrificed his life for Sam, and Sam hadn't been able to get him out of the deal like he had promised. That was a guilt that nobody could live with. But now he had the chance to fix things. He wasn't going to let it slip through his fingertips.

"Take your hand off the trunk, Bobby," Sam finally settled on saying, and somewhat flatly, almost distantly.

"Sam, you must be crazy if you think I—"

"Bobby. I'll ask you one more time. Take your hand off the trunk."

The older man was clearly surprised by Sam's tone, and after a second, he removed his hand, disbelief and discomfort written on his face. He turned to face the taller one, putting his hands on his sides. "Sam—"

"What're you even doing here, Bobby?" Sam asked incredulously. "You know, I don't remember telling you what I was planning on doing, and I don't remember asking you for your opinion on how to save him. This is something that I gotta do alone."

"_Why_?" Bobby demanded. "What is _with_ you Winchesters and this self-destructive need to take on the entire load yourself? Do you _not_ remember me tellin' you that I would be there in a second if you needed me? If you needed anything?"

"No, I remember, Bobby. But I couldn't sit around and wait for _months_ for some kind of _possibility_ or a _lead_ on getting Dean back. Not while he's being tortured in _Hell_!" Sam was shouting now, and he felt a little bit of spit dribble from his mouth, which he quickly wiped away with his jacket sleeve.

Bobby threw his arms up into the air. "Do you _realize_ just what this is gonna do, Sam? How many demons are gonna escape, and how many more problems this whole thing'll cause? Are you really willing to risk all of that just for your brother's sake?"

"Yes!" Sam nearly roared. His voice quieted down almost immediately, to near inaudibility. He looked at the ground briefly. "Dean gave up his life for me. And I'm gonna get him back if it's the last thing I do." His voice rose to normal level, where determination rung. "I don't care how. But I'm doing it."

At first, it seemed almost like Bobby had been placated by Sam's answer. But that was soon proven to be false when he placed his hand back on the trunk, promptly shutting it with a loud slamming noise. He stared Sam in the face, who looked back at him in mild surprise.

"I can't let you do this, Sam," he said. "I can't let you open that gate and release God knows what on the planet just so you can get your brother back. One life is not worth the death of hundreds."

Sam spoke slowly. "It is when that one life is _my brother_."

In just the split second after the young hunter spoke, Bobby reached for him, attempting to grab him and pull him away from the car. But Sam, who was beyond angry now, reached out and took hold of Bobby's vest and, using his superior strength, lifted the other man off the ground and tossed him some yards away. Bobby gave a yell and hit the ground hard, arms fumbling as he tried to lift himself up after the shock of it.

"Don't interfere, Bobby," Sam warned as he reopened the trunk. "I don't want to hurt you. But I told you, I'm getting Dean's soul back. And I don't care how many demons I let out in the process. I'll track them all down and kill them myself if I have to. Whatever it takes."

After retrieving the Colt, Sam moved away from the impala and headed toward the Devil's Gate. He had failed to notice that the crickets' chirping and the rustling of the birds in the trees had died down and given way to silence. All he could hear was the wind blowing past him, and the blood pumping in his ears.

When he arrived at the gate, he turned back to make sure that Bobby wasn't coming after him to prevent him from doing what needed to be done. Once sure, he focused his attention on the Devil's Gate and promptly thrust the barrel of the Colt into the keyhole. The locks on the door began to shake and shift, and they gave a long, loud groaning noise as what was behind them fought to be free. Sam pulled out the Colt and then stepped back a few feet in order to not be hit by the doors, which by now were shaking almost violently. He pocketed the gun and watched with morbid focus and intensity as the two halves to the gate burst open, revealing a brilliant mix of red, orange and yellow. All sorts of screams and yells erupted from the doorway, but none of them sounded like his brother.

Sam had to believe that as he called for Dean's soul within his head—within his heart—that his brother would hear it, and that he would come to the front. Above, there was a sudden large thunderclap, followed by some sizzling and crackling that broke his concentration and made him drop the gun. When he looked up in the air, he noticed that the clouds around them had darkened considerably, and he felt the wind pick up, blowing his somewhat long strands of hair into his eyes and mouth. Sputtering, he looked back down at the gate, then backed up quickly, because from within he saw a massive collection of tendrils of black, swirling smoke bursting out. His instinctive reaction was to cover his face, and although he did so, he remembered that he had a job to do.

Sam focused fixedly on his brother's soul, wishing for it, needing it, calling for it. He pictured Dean standing in front of him just like their father had not but a year ago, looking at him right in the eyes as if he were corporeal. The wind had begun to blow brutally by now, and Sam could neither hear—nor see—anything at first. But then, deep inside the recesses of his mind, he heard his brother's voice loud and clear.

"_Sam!?_"

That couldn't have been his own imagination. That was Dean. He knew it. Renewed, Sam continued to call for his brother, clenching his eyes shut and covering his ears with his hands to keep the horrifically loud whistling sound of the wind, as well as the thunderclaps, from bursting his eardrums. Another call from his brother, now sounding somewhere between anxious and terrified, erupted in his head:

"_SAM!_"

In an instant, Sam opened his eyes. His heart thudded in his chest, and at that moment, everything seemed to stop. Standing there in front of him just a few feet away was Dean's spirit, looking horrendously beaten and bloody. There was fear and confusion in his eyes, but Sam couldn't let that look, nor his emotions, get the best of him at that moment. No, he needed to recite the incantation that would keep his brother's soul around long enough for him to perform the ritual to recombine it with his body.

Reaching into his front pocket, the young hunter produced a sheet of paper, from which he began to read loudly. The wind almost drowned him out, almost took his breath away, but Sam recited the spell with more fervor and focus than he had anything else before. When it was done, he noticed Dean's spirit flash briefly, before it seemed to almost corporealize. Dean himself looked just as confused as before, but Sam couldn't focus on that at the moment. There was another sudden burst of electrical crackling, and he saw three or four more tendrils of black smoke spurt out from the gate. Without thinking, he turned his attention to the doors and brought his hands together with a struggling effort, using his power to shut them. They interlocked with a loud slamming noise, and soon a quick, rapid clicking followed as the locks redid themselves.

The demons that had escaped didn't stick around, and soon dispersed in the air in every direction possible. Sam heard Bobby give a loud curse, but he ignored it, turning his attention to his brother's spirit that was now standing there before him.

"Sammy?" Dean called in his head telepathically, sounding lost. "Sammy, is that you? What am I—"

Sam swallowed, unable to even speak. A wave of emotions had overtaken him, and it was all he could do to keep himself from giving into them and breaking down right there. Instead, he somehow managed to get enough control over himself in order to go over toward the little ritual station that he had set up. Dean's body was still laying there, the sleeping-like expression on his face not having changed one bit.

Dropping to his knees, Sam pulled out another piece of paper, this time from his breast pocket. He could hear the sound of crackling in the distance, as well as the sound of footsteps. He looked up quickly to see Bobby coming toward him, but at a slow pace. He didn't seem too injured, and for that, Sam was partially glad. But his attention returned to Dean's body quickly.

He drowned out the sound of his brother's disoriented and anxious words in his head, focusing all of his energies on the spell written before him. Everything was laid out as it needed to be around them, and he adjusted the agate crystal that he had settled right over Dean's heart.

Taking a deep breath, Sam began to read the long paragraph of Latin words, reciting them clearly. As he spoke, the area around him seemed to fall quiet, and the herbs, as well as the crystal, seemed to almost resonate. Inside of his head he could hear Dean saying, "What are you doing?" or, "What's going on?" and heard him frequently call out his name, but he didn't respond to any of it, not willing to break his tempo and focus. The entire thing took Sam several moments to read and, when he was finished, he looked up and over his shoulder to where his brother's soul was. It seemed to lose its corporeal form, becoming faded and translucent once again, before it began to almost fade away. But it also began to compact, turning into a long, thick, glittering wisp that fluttered through the air toward the agate upon Dean's chest. It then poured into it in a flash, and when every last bit of it was inside the crystal, the older hunter's eyes suddenly opened, and he gave a deep gasp.

Sam, who was kneeling beside him, looked down at his brother's face before quickly reaching to cradle his shoulders in one arm while gently resting the other on his chest. Dean's head lulled to the side for a moment, but his eyes were mistakably open. Their color captivated Sam in a way that they had never before.

"Dean?" he asked, sounding somewhere between desperate and hopeful.

Dean's eyes shot around everywhere for a few, before they finally landed on Sam, whose lips were quivering, and whose eyes were squinted just slightly, tears forming in the corners of them. Dean's arm gave a weak jerk before he seemed to get full control of it, and when he did, he reached out, gripping Sam's jacketed forearm feebly from beneath the blanket.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was rough, gravelly.

Neither man said anything then, and silence settled in between them. Sam tried his damnedest to keep from crying but it finally became too much. A couple of tears dripped down his cheeks as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against his brother's, sniffling quietly.


	10. One Hell of an Effect

**Author's Notes:** This chapter is a little shorter than the rest, and for that I apologize. Also, I figure I should mention it now: my family is going through a very, very rough time right now, as am I, and...I'm just gonna have to put the story on pause, if not stop it completely. I've gotten as far as chapter thirteen (and have finished it), and that's the last one. I hope to pick this story up again at some point, but for now, it's gonna have to take a backseat to everything else. I know I said I planned on shutting it off there until after season 4 popped on, so who knows? That might work out. It all depends on how things go. Sorry /

Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought of this chapter :) Comments are always loved!

* * *

Dean gripped the sleeve of Sam's jacket tighter than before.

"Sammy…"

Sam couldn't respond. Tears were still falling on his face and his throat was quivering now, too. It had taken so much longer than he thought it would to get here, to get Dean back, but he had finally _done _it. His brother was alive again. Life suddenly had a new meaning to him. And the _relief_ that he felt…

Swallowing and letting out a somewhat choked laugh of amusement, Sam pulled his head back and away from Dean's, looking at his brother in the eyes.

"Dean…thank _God._"

"If you say so…" Dean murmured.

Sam let out another brief, quiet laugh then. "You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."

Dean grunted in effort in an attempt to lift himself up and into a seated position. It took a little bit more energy out of him than he seemed to have, however, because he fell against his brother, who kept him close.

"Don't try to overdo it right now, Dean," he advised lightly. "Come on. I'll help you into the car, all right? And we can find somewhere to go, so you can get better." At this time Sam looked up, and found Bobby staring at him. The expression on Bobby's face was far from anger, which was what he had been expecting. Instead he seemed a little dazed, but mostly concerned.

"Why don't you boys come back home with me?" Bobby suggested. That made Sam blink. "You can rest there for a while. I can watch over you, make sure you're okay."

While Sam had the distinct feeling that Bobby was speaking specifically about Dean, he didn't say anything about it. Instead he looked down at his brother, who was opening and closing his eyes blearily, as if trying to focus them. He said, "Come on, Dean. Let's go. You can rest in the car."

"Why don't you let me take him in mine," Bobby said lightly, but in a way that clearly was more of an order than an idea.

Although Sam wasn't entirely willing, he nonetheless nodded, and soon he and Bobby were helping Dean to his feet. Together, they helped him into Bobby's car, where he moved to lie across the back seat. Before either of them even really had a chance to say anything, Dean's eyes were closed and he looked like he was about ready to fall asleep. Given how overwhelming the entire situation had been, neither of them really expected him to stay awake for too long at first. When Sam shut the door he turned to Bobby, who reached out and clasped his shoulder.

"Look," Bobby began. Then he stopped, giving a somewhat resigning sigh. "…Never mind. We'll talk about it when we get home. All right?"

"All right," Sam said.

Nothing more was said after that, and each hunter got into their respective car, flipped on their lights, and started on their trip to Sioux County, South Dakota.

. . .

When Sam pulled up behind Bobby, he put the impala into park, killed the engine and then tugged the keys out of the ignition. He shoved them into his pocket and climbed out, eager to stretch his legs. He had been driving for hours, and with no pit stops, his legs had gotten pretty cramped. If at all possible, he didn't plan on driving for a while, just so his body had time to recover from how much of it he had done in the last several days.

Dean remained pretty much out of it while Bobby and Sam helped him into the house. When they laid him down on the couch, he curled up into a near fetal position, which sent a jolt of concern through his younger brother. Dean had never been one to lie like that when trying to sleep. But, after everything that had happened to him…it wouldn't be far fetched to assume he didn't get any sleep, and had surely felt unsafe. That would hopefully change soon.

Sam was just about to walk away, ready to follow Bobby into the kitchen, when he felt Dean suddenly grip the fabric of his jeans. He turned around quickly, looking down at the other to make sure he was okay.

"Sammy," was all Dean said. He shifted on the couch. Then he grunted in slight pain.

The younger hunter reached over and tugged a nearby chair toward him so that he could sit in it. When he did, he kept himself close to his brother, who, although he had let go of his jeans, was now reaching out and grasping for Sam's arm. It was still a feeble sort of grip, but it was insistent. Sam gave him his left arm, and Dean brought it close to him for a moment, almost clinging on to it. Seeing that nearly broke the younger one's heart.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," Sam said reassuringly, hunching himself over a little and resting his free arm on top of his thigh.

Sam stayed like that for a while, until he felt the grip on his arm loosen. One look at Dean's face told him that his brother had fallen asleep. That was good. He needed his rest. He needed food, too, of course, but that would come later. Maybe around that time, Sam's appetite would come back to him, too. As it was, he hadn't eaten anything in over seven hours, but he just didn't feel like it. Far too much had happened. Far too much was still _going_ to happen.

He watched Dean sleep for a few minutes until he heard the sound of Bobby rustling around in the kitchen. Getting up, he made his way into the small, but quaint, cooking area, taking in the sight of the older hunter preparing what smelled like chili. It reawakened Sam's hunger, which hit him full force—complete with a loud, grumbling groan from his stomach.

"Thought I'd make a snack," Bobby explained. "Breakfast'd normally be in a few hours, but…hell, I'd normally also be asleep right now."

Sam didn't say anything in response, simply stepping further into the kitchen toward Bobby. The two of them shared a look, after which Bobby pulled his gaze away to check up on the chili. But afterward he returned it to Sam. Finally, he said:

"How's he doin'?"

"Better than I thought he would be," Sam admitted. "But I think he's so exhausted that even food wouldn't wake him up."

When silence followed their little exchange, part of the younger hunter once again expected to be berated for what he had done. But as it was, Bobby just continued to make the chili, stirring it occasionally and pulling away from it long enough to grab a spice container or something of the like. Sam could tell that things were going to be tense between them for a while, if not somewhat indefinitely. After all, he _had_ opened a gate to Hell and let loose God only knew what, just for his brother. But he _needed_ him. Sam couldn't go on without him, no matter how much he may have tried fooling himself into believing he could.

A world without Dean wasn't a world at all.

Bobby's voice quickly snapped him out of his little reverie. "You look beat, kid. Why don't you go get some sleep, too, and we can deal with all of this in the morning?"

Surprisingly, Sam didn't argue. There was a mirror hanging in Bobby's kitchen, just above the phone on the wall, and when he turned to look at himself in it, he looked worse than the last time he checked himself out. There were many factors, of course, but a good night's sleep would hopefully at least do _some_ good. And he could stave off hunger for just a few more hours. Especially if it meant having something home-cooked.

"Yeah, all right," he murmured, reaching up to rub his eyes. "I'll see you in the morning, then, Bobby."

Bobby gave Sam a brief wave as a goodbye while the young hunter stepped out of the kitchen and back into the living room. There were bedrooms upstairs, and although he started making his way toward them, he paused in the archway and stared at his brother sleeping on the couch. Dean's face was contorted and he looked uncomfortable, but he wasn't making any noise, nor was he moving around.

Sam hoped it wasn't anything serious. Dean was probably just dreaming.

With any luck, maybe his own would now end. They had seemingly served their purpose. But so many of them had ended with Dean becoming demonic that he wondered if they were even to serve one at all. After all, it had only been a month. There was no way that someone could become evil in that period of time. Even _if _they had suffered Hell.

It took years for things like that to happen, he assured himself.

He thought on that while he went upstairs, feeling fatigue weighing on him heavily. By the time he had kicked his boots off and draped his jacket over the desk chair in Bobby's spare room, he already felt like he might pass out. So it was no surprise that when he crawled onto the bed and his head hit the pillow, he immediately fell to sleep.

Sam slept soundly for quite some time. But, somewhere in the middle of the morning, he was abruptly awakened. It was a strange sensation that ran through him, one that he couldn't figure out. It was almost as if an alarm had gone off in his head and he had simply responded to it. The odd thing was, he didn't even feel tired, or sluggish, like he usually did when he woke up. It felt as if all his senses were on the alert.

Scratching his head, the young hunter shifted onto his other side and attempted to go back to sleep. He struggled with this for several minutes, and eventually failed completely. He sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes, despite the fact that they didn't need to be. What was going on?

There was no clock in Bobby's spare room, so he grabbed his watch that rested on top of the nightstand to check what time it was. The sun was rising outside, and that made sense—it was somewhere around nine in the morning. He groaned quietly. His whole sense of time had been thrown off with all of these long ass drives.

Still not entirely sure why it was that he had just suddenly woken up, Sam figured that he might as well stop trying to go back to sleep, since it seemed like a lost cause anyways. As such, he got up and out of bed, heading out into the hall to go to the bathroom. But he stopped, his ears catching the sound of something stumbling and then a faint crash around below. He shot a look toward Bobby's door and noted that it was shut. The only other option was Dean.

"Dean."

Worried, Sam headed for the stairs and quickly descended them, heading into the living room. He saw his brother standing there in the middle of it, his back to him, and his arms held away from his body, almost like he was tied up. At the sound of Sam arriving he turned around immediately. There was a near manic look on his face.

"Oh, God, those evil sons of bitches…fucking—" he cut off suddenly, letting out an angry, frustrated sort of growl. "This is _sick_, do you hear me?!" he shouted. He brought the heels of his palms to his forehead, pressing them into it as he tightly closed his eyes. "God damn it!"

"Dean!" Sam stepped closer to his brother but stopped himself when he saw the way Dean hurriedly jumped back from him.

"You're not my brother," Dean said quickly, shaking his head. "You're not Sam. No. You're just another god damn demon that's trying to make me _think_—"

"_Dean_," Sam insisted. He gingerly reached out, trying to grip his brother's wrist, but Dean jerked his arm away and let out a whimper that made the young hunter wince. "Dean, it _is_ me, I swear!"

"Don't—don't _do_ this. Not _again_." In a second's time Dean stumbled into the side of the couch and fell onto the wooden floor, letting out a pained grunt as he crumbled out over it. Sam approached him but said nothing, and this made him bring up his hands to hide his face. "Just leave me alone…"

The tone that Dean was using was so unlike him that Sam couldn't even recognize it as his brother. He looked down at him and finally, biting his tongue, reached out and took hold of his wrists, attempting to pull Dean's hands away from his face. It was surprisingly easy to do so—so easy, in fact, that the strength Sam used actually jerked the older hunter's arms outward, which caused him to cry out in pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Sam apologized quickly, almost timidly. Dean was nearly writhing on the floor now, shaking. But he wasn't fighting back, which gave the taller one the opportunity to bring his brother close to him. He wrapped one arm around Dean's shoulders like he had earlier, and he used the other to lift him up off the ground and against his chest. Dean continued to shake, and he tried to push Sam away, but he couldn't.

"You're not my brother," Dean repeated faintly, as if he had lost the fight within him.

"Dean, I swear to God, it's me. It's Sammy." Sam spoke softly, as comfortingly as he could, and he unknowingly began to rock the other back and forth. Dean, whose head was pressed against his younger brother's chest, gave a trembling sort of sigh. "I promise it's me, Dean. I saved you…"

It took Dean several moments before his shaky breaths and anxious trembling began to subside. When it did, he gripped the other's shirt, looking up at him. "Sammy?" he asked tentatively.

Sam nodded, trying to smile soothingly. "In the flesh."

Those words seemed to placate Dean. The young hunger felt all the tension in his brother's body disappear, and watched as he closed his eyes, bringing himself in closer. He gripped Sam's shirt tighter.

"Thank _God_," he murmured.

Sam cradled Dean in his arms for a few minutes before the heaviness of his body began to weigh in on his arms. Grunting quietly, he gestured to the couch. "Come on, let's get you up there." Dean complied, and soon the two of them were sitting on the couch. Sam looked over him, realizing that Dean was still wearing the clothes that he had been at the time of his death.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Like…shit," Dean replied tiredly. There were dark circles under his eyes, but it seemed that, by reuniting his soul with his body, Sam had thus undone all the signs of deterioration that the other's body had undergone. Dean looked sickly, but not like death, like before. The wounds were still visible, but they were certainly better than they had been.

The older one brought a hand up to his face. "_Please_ tell me this is real."

"Normally this is where I'd pinch you, but I think you've been through enough pain as it is." Sam pursed his lips momentarily. "It's real, though. I promise. We're at Bobby's house. Last night…"

"Last night," Dean repeated. He turned his gaze to Sam. "God, it's all like a blur. What happened?"

Where to begin, Sam wondered? He decided to drop the bomb first. "Well. Last night, I…resurrected you, pretty much." Dean's face fell at that, and Sam knew immediately what he was thinking. "I didn't make a deal," he said quickly, in his defense. "So…don't worry." Dean seemed to loosen up again. "I used a ritual to reunite your soul with your body."

Dean didn't seem to know what to say to that, because nothing came out of his mouth afterward. He glanced downward, taking in his body's appearance. Everything was exactly the same as when he had been killed, right down to the bloodstains, save for the dressing his wounds had gotten. When he looked back up at Sam he still said nothing, but he moved in, wrapping his arms tightly around his brother's shoulders out of the blue. Sam responded afterward by returning the hug, but gingerly, so as to not injure him further. When Dean pulled back, his eyes were slightly moist.

"I don't know how you got me out of there, but…thanks, Sam." He patted Sam's knee.

It was a rarity for Dean to ever say he was sorry or that he was thankful, let alone cry, and for it all to come so freely from him as it did at that moment was something Sam was going to treasure. Giving his brother a soft smile, he nodded. "Don't worry about it. You're my brother, Dean. I'd do anything for you."

The entire thing felt surreal. As silence overtook them, Sam couldn't help but stare at Dean, expecting this, too, to be some kind of dream for him. But he knew it wasn't, because no dream could have been as intense and long lasting as what had just happened to them. It was just impossible.

"What time is it?" Dean asked all of a sudden, looking over his shoulder.

"It's about nine," Sam replied. "Bobby and I got here sometime early this morning…we put you on the couch to rest, and then went upstairs and did the same. I was gonna take you up there with me, but I figured it'd be better to just leave you resting where you were. Too much moving could've done some damage."

"What's the date?"

"It's June sixth." Sam knew Dean wanted to know how long he was down there for. And sure enough, the next comment verified that.

"It felt like so much longer down there."

"It felt like that up here, too," Sam said with a quiet snort. "Believe me."

There was so much left unsaid between them: what Hell had been like; what Sam had done in his time while Dean was down there; how the two of them had changed; how _everything_ had changed. But neither of them brought any of it up. In fact, the next topic couldn't have been further from it.

"I'm hungry as hell," Dean announced. "Feel like I could eat a whole Thanksgiving feast to myself."

"When couldn't you before?" Sam joked. He felt a wave of comfort—of relief—rush over him at that moment. He hadn't realized just how much he missed joking like this with Dean.

"Let's get something to eat."

Although Sam was up and standing in no time flat, it took Dean some time to get himself the same. When Sam reached down to try and help him, he batted the other's hand away, giving him a light grunt. The two Winchesters headed into Bobby's kitchen, where Dean took a seat at the table, while Sam rummaged through the cabinets. He pulled some bread out of it and headed to the refrigerator to get some mayonnaise, mustard and lunch meat. Bobby always had ham in his house, that much he could remember. Some of the chili from the night before was in there, too, and so he pulled that out, then prepared a meal for him and his brother. It wasn't anything fancy, but food was food, and neither of them was picky.

When the plate was placed in front of him with a sandwich and a bowl of chili, Dean looked at it as if it really were a Thanksgiving dinner. He went for the sandwich first, gripping it with both hands as he took a large bite out of it. The look on his face was pure bliss, but it seemed tainted almost by some kind of longing desperation. He gave a groan of satisfaction as he took another bite, then another, quickly in succession.

Sam frowned. He couldn't very well tell his brother not to inhale the food; because from the looks of it, it was the first thing he had eaten in…well, over a month. He had barely taken a couple of bites out of his own by the time Dean finished with his, picking up the spoon and going after the chili next. The two of them sat in silence while they ate, with Sam watching his brother intently. Dean finished his meal with a long, but content, sigh.

"You know how long it's been since I've eaten anything good?" he asked quietly.

Sam took the question as rhetorical, and as such, didn't answer. Instead he just shook his head, taking another bite from his sandwich. When he looked at his brother, he was surprised to see the way he was staring at his food. "Did you want more?" the younger one asked.

"You mind?" Dean requested.

"No, no. Here, take it." Sam extended the other half of his sandwich to his brother, who snatched it up with thanks and had almost eaten half of it within seconds. It surprised him how quickly Dean could eat sometimes.

Things weren't back to normal just yet. They both still had a lot of explaining to do, as well as many things to sort out, but they were well on their way, and Sam was thankful for that. Given time, he knew that some semblance of what they had before would be regained, if not all of it.

That was what he hoped for.

And he was nothing if not insistent…


	11. Brothers

**Author's Notes:** Just wanted to extend thanks for the well wishes people have sent, whether through reviews or elsewhere! It certainly made my day today when I got online and checked it all out. I thought I'd update the story, too, since it's been a bit and there's just a little while to go. Recently I've made the choice to try and read an old book series I used to be into when I was a teen: Animorphs. This prompted me to re-read my entire story I wrote like, 5 years ago, which was full of glaring typos and crap that just drove me up the wall. So if that's your cup of tea, I'm going to be updating it and fixing it on the site (I've gone through and fixed it in my master copy on my comp here--just need to upload it) as time progresses. So with any luck, it'll look a lot better. I'd love to write in that world again, but I forgot how damn depressing it was. I've only finished book three, and I'm like, my God.

Anyway, here is chapter eleven. Not quite as long as usual, but as always, I have my reasons. :) Please don't forget to review!

* * *

Dean moved to stand. "Yeah, guys, I'm…gonna get a shower before I head to bed. The heat's making my bandages sweat, and it's getting all itchy."

"All right, Dean. Just remember, you gotta let the water run for a few before you hop in there. Unless you wanna freeze yourself." Bobby chuckled.

It had been two days since Sam had saved Dean from Hell. And those two days had been both some of the best—as well as some of the worst—of his life. There was no describing the joy and comfort that he felt now that he had his brother back. But just the same, there was also no way of describing the frustration and fright that he felt when dealing with Dean and his…episodes.

That was what Sam had come to call them. These periods while the older hunter was asleep, wherein he would curl up into a ball, begin to murmur quietly at first, until eventually he was thrashing all over the bed and crying out in what sounded like not only fear, but rage and pain as well. There had been three thus far, none of which seemed to be particularly worse than the other. But nonetheless, they were worrisome. Sam knew they were nightmares from what Dean had seen and experienced in Hell, and he wished that there were some way to get rid of them. To his knowledge, however, there was no way to prevent dreams; there were only really suggestions for, or ways of, inducing them. And the last thing he wanted to do was make Dean see even _more_ traumatic memories in his sleep.

Sam tried not to talk about them while Dean was awake. He had lightly breeched the subject of Hell to his brother at lunch the day before, but the other wanted nothing to do with it. In fact, he promptly switched the subject, asking about whether or not Sam had kept up on hunts while he was gone. Sam told him about the incubus but failed to mention the details as to how he had killed it. Thankfully, Dean didn't press further by asking. But that topic in particular would need to be discussed in the future, Sam was sure of it. Anxiously sure.

He watched as Dean made his way up the stairs toward the bathroom and, once he was gone, turned his attention to Bobby sitting nearby. The two of them had yet to talk, either, about all that had taken place not too long ago. Sam could sense that that was about to change. This was the first time that he and Bobby had been alone since they first arrived, and he had intentionally made it so, having wanted to delay this conversation for as long as possible.

"Sam," Bobby began.

Ten points for me, Sam thought, noting the other's tone.

"Yeah, Bobby," he said.

The older hunter waited a minute to make sure the water upstairs was running before he began speaking again. He looked at the other. "You haven't told Dean about how you saved him yet, have you?"

"No. Maybe soon. He needs to get better right now. That's the biggest thing."

Bobby looked as if he didn't entirely approve of that. "You know he's gonna start asking."

"Yeah, well, he can ask when he does. We'll deal with it then." Sam hadn't intended to sound so short when he spoke, but Bobby had struck a nerve—quite deeply—that apparently the younger one had mistaken as less sensitive than it truly was.

Bobby hadn't expected it, either. He spoke with indignation. "Well. All right, then. If you got all the answers, Sam, we'll just do it your way. Since you don't seem to give a shit either way about _what_ I think!"

"Oh, come on, Bobby," Sam muttered in exasperation. "I told you I was going to do whatever it took to get Dean back, and I did it. I also said I wasn't gonna wait around while you came up with some kind of way of getting him back, because it couldn't wait."

"Yeah. And you just _happened_ to forget mentioning that you released even _more_ demons from Hell in the process. M'sure your brother's _really_ gonna appreciate that."

Sam was up and out of his chair before he even realized it. He looked down at Bobby, who appeared surprised. His tone was short, somewhat angry. "Listen. We'll deal with that when the time comes. But for now? At least let's let Dean get better. The world isn't gonna come to an end if we don't get right out there and hunt, Bobby. There are sometimes more important things to worry about. Weren't you the ones who told us that?" He turned and headed for the stairs.

"Sam, wait—"

But Sam didn't wait for Bobby. In fact, he was only upstairs for a minute; just how long it took to get the keys to the car. When he came back down he attempted to stalk past Bobby, who was waiting for him at the landing.

"Sam, how did you close the gate?" Bobby asked bluntly. He blocked the taller hunter's way, which irritated Sam, trying to move past him. But Bobby didn't budge. Again he asked, and with more insistence this time: "_Sam._ How the hell did you close the gate?"

Sam stopped trying to move past Bobby and simply stood there, gripping the keys tightly in his hand. He looked down. This was the one thing that he had been hoping he could avoid, but it was obvious by the look in Bobby's eyes that he knew. There was no denying it.

Still. He tried.

"I used my hands."

"That's a load of bull and you know it." Bobby gripped the banister a little harder than before. "Don't tell me you…" But he didn't finish speaking. Instead he simply looked down, shaking his head. He stared at Sam. "How could you?" he finally asked, sounding almost betrayed.

Sam didn't flinch. He just set his jaw and looked at Bobby briefly before turning his gaze to the front door. "I told you: _anything_ to save Dean."

. . .

Things were tense between Bobby and Sam that following morning up until Dean's arrival to the kitchen table, where the aforementioned two were having breakfast in silence. The three of them ate and chatted briefly, and after a while Bobby excused himself, claiming that he had some work at the salvage yard which he had been putting off that needed to be done as soon as possible. Dean didn't seem to mind and Sam was actually rather glad when he left. Every moment where Bobby was around caused anxiety in the youngest hunter—he had a distinct feeling that he was going to spill the beans to Dean at any given moment that Sam wasn't around.

For Bobby's sake, he hoped that it wouldn't happen.

This left him and Dean alone, an occurrence that had happened somewhat rarely since their moment in the kitchen some days ago. Dean continued to eat like a starved child while Sam continued to watch him. After the older one finished he leaned back in his chair, scratching idly at his chest.

"How're the wounds on your chest doing?" Sam inquired.

"Better than I thought they'd be," Dean replied. "It's getting so that I don't even feel the sting of the hydrogen peroxide anymore. They'll leave some scarring, but…"

Sam looked at his own shoulder, then down at his finger. Having been shot and having had his nail torn out—among countless other things—he knew a bit about scarring, himself. They were battle scars. And for once, he wasn't ashamed to have them. "Comes with the territory," he said to Dean, smiling in faint amusement.

"God knows we got our own fair share." Dean gave a laugh.

The two of them continued to sit there in silence for a few more minutes. It didn't make either of them uncomfortable, nor did it incline them to say anything. It was almost as if some kind of unspoken bond was reaffirming itself by their just being in one another's presence.

Sam eventually started picking up the dishes while Dean tidied up the kitchen table.

"Remind me to get Bobby something really good as a thanks for all of this," the older hunter stated while sweeping some breadcrumbs into his hand. He brought them over to the sink and dropped them inside, clapping his hands together afterward to make sure everything was off of them.

Sam gave a non-committal sort of sound. Any mention of Bobby was making him unnecessarily anxious, and he didn't like it. "Well, when he lets you leave the house, then I'll be sure to remind you. Until then…"

Silence fell upon them again after that while they continued to clean up the kitchen from the mess of breakfast. Sam had taken to doing chores around the house as a means of both keeping himself busy and as thanks to Bobby for letting them stay there. Later, he was going to reshelf some books in a better order, as well as organize some files. He still needed to get a shower, but that would come later.

"Part of me almost thinks it's better for us to stay right here for now," Dean announced while putting the placemats back in their appropriate spots. He glanced at Sam. "I mean, Lilith is gonna be coming after us, right? We're stronger if we have a solid base. And with Bobby, there isn't one much stronger."

Lilith. Sam hadn't thought about her in some time. He had been so focused on Dean that the whole ordeal of her seemed insignificant, which was almost ironic. "I guess you're right," he said in tentative agreement. "Plus, you could probably use another day or two to recuperate completely before we do any heavy traveling."

"At least we don't have to worry about Ruby any more," Dean added with a light shrug. "Don't get me wrong, I mean…she helped us out a few times." He scratched his head. "But still, what a bitch sometimes."

There were so many things that Dean needed to hear, Sam thought to himself. He didn't even know where to begin. And it was all so fragile. The night before, after his argument with Bobby, Sam spent most of his time before going to sleep running over different ways of telling Dean all that had taken place over the last month. In retrospect, it was a lot more than Sam had really considered, which was partially what made it difficult. But what made it the hardest was the fact that he had given in to his powers, and that those were what saved Dean's life.

In one scenario, Dean yelled at him for hours and told him to send him back to Hell, because he couldn't live in a world where his brother was 'like that'. In another, Dean seemed more scared and paranoid, having a hard time believing anything Sam said. But it was the last one that worried him the most, because he knew it was the most likely option: Dean would freak out, then attempt to find some way to fix it so that Sam was 'normal' again, and in the process, destroy everything they had worked so hard for.

Truth be told, Sam had _mostly _come to accept the fact that he wasn't, in fact, normal, and that he never would be. And if his powers had been what had saved his brother, the last thing he wanted was to get rid of them. Without them, closing the gate would have been nearly impossible, as well.

Oh yes, the gate, Sam thought. That was an entirely other subject that they had yet to bring up together. It was like they were playing a game of Russian roulette, and any topic that they spoke about could lead to the untimely death of either one of them.

Tread lightly, he told himself.

"Let's just focus on you getting better right now," Sam suggested. "That's what's important. If you're not functioning well, it throws your whole system off."

"What system?" Dean asked, confused.

"It's a figure of speech, Dean."

"Oh." Dean nodded suddenly. "_Oh_. Yeah. Yeah, I knew that."

Sam started to make his way out to the living room, but was stopped when he heard his brother suddenly clear his throat. He turned.

"Hey, Sammy, what do you say we skip out on the things Bobby asked us to do and watch a movie, instead? Just some you and me time?" Dean almost sounded like a child when he asked it, as if he were about to bounce up and down if Sam said yes.

So it wasn't surprising to Sam that, when he did agree, Dean smiled widely. It was the first time he had seen a true Dean Winchester smile in a long time, and it brought a unique smile to his own face.

"Come on, let's see what he's got," Sam said.

The two Winchesters headed into the sitting room where Bobby's television was. They almost never went into this room, mostly because they had no reason to. And from the looks of it, neither did Bobby. The television wasn't much bigger than your average one—maybe a 13 incher—and looked to be several years old. There was a VCR covered in dust underneath it resting on a shelf of a stand. Beside it stood a little shelf upon which several videotapes were scattered out. Other than that, the entertainment seemed pretty null. There was a couch sitting parallel to the television with some end tables on either side of it, but that was about all that filled the room.

"Now we know why he finds things so quickly, huh?" Dean joked. He moved to kneel beside the shelf, giving a light grunt as he did so. He perused the videotapes.

Sam nodded, considering it. Bobby probably kept busier working in the salvage yard than watching movies or television. "What's he got?"

"Looks like…Air Force One, Star Wars Episode Four…" Dean leaned in some to read even more carefully. "Pulp Fiction…oh! Ha! The Sound of Music…" He chuckled to himself. "Oh, Bobby. You're so gonna get crap for that one."

"Anything _good_?"

"Define good, Sam. Most of these movies are all right, but nothing special."

"Whatever," Sam said with a snort. "Let's just…Star Wars. It's a classic." He took a seat on the couch, spreading his arms out along the arm and the back of it.

"Classic it is, then."

As Dean put in the movie and the familiar scene started, Sam thought to himself how nice this was. Circumstances aside, this was normal; watching a movie with his brother in their friend's house…it was just so _normal_. And Sam _liked_ that. They weren't looking for a demon, or a vampire, or some restless spirit. They weren't trying to protect themselves from malevolent forces. They weren't even driving cross-country and staying in a motel room like they usually did. Even if he had mostly accepted his abnormalcy, that didn't mean that he didn't long for it around him.

Because he knew it wasn't going to last, Sam figured that he needed to enjoy this as much as possible. The very thought that tomorrow, something could pop up on his daily search through the news, seemed unbelievably scary to him. Normally it didn't. But anything that threatened this fragmented sense of peace he was clinging to so tightly…

Time passed, and the two brothers occasionally cracked jokes or comments about the actors, the characters, and just the movie in general. They hadn't done this for such a long time…hadn't had a brotherly moment that didn't involve one of them getting angry with the other and causing discomfort between them, followed by some odd kind of making up. But this, this was nice.

Toward the end of the movie, right around when Princess Leia was awarding Han Solo and Luke Skywalker their medals of honor, Sam felt Dean's eyes on him, and he heard the other clear his throat.

"Sam," he began, and in that serious tone that told the younger one that he needed to listen.

"Yeah, Dean?"

Dean was quiet for a moment. Nearby came the sound of the cheers and applause from the movie, which he muted with the remote. Afterward he shifted his body to face Sam and looked at him. "Listen, Sam, I…feel terrible. About what happened, I mean."

"What?" Sam asked, blinking.

"About what happened last month. You, having to see me be torn to shreds by that hellhound. I know it must've just…really screwed with you."

That was the first time Sam had recalled the moment since arriving at Bobby's. He felt that familiar sense of dread pour through him, along with the undeniably powerful pain he had experienced, knowing his brother was dead. He tried to knock it all out of his head. "You didn't have any control over that," Sam said immediately.

"But I did, Sammy. I really did. I shouldn't have…" Dean trailed off, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have done the deal. But I just couldn't live knowing that I hadn't done everything I could to save you."

They had been over this before, and Sam recalled the way he had felt the first time Dean said it to him. This time, though, the meaning was entirely different. The fear inside of him about how his brother would react to finding out how he had been saved must have been what Dean had felt after Sam himself had been resurrected.

"It's okay," Sam said reassuringly. "I mean, it hurt, but…you're here now, right? That's all that matters."

"Wouldn't be if it weren't for you, Sammy," Dean said. He clasped his brother's knee in a surprisingly warm manner, and when he pulled it back, he smiled. "Won't ever make fun of you again for sticking your nose in so many books like Bobby. I'd still be in Hell otherwise."

Sam just nodded. Things between them remained silent for the next few moments to follow, during which they both seemed to look around the room, as if searching for a topic of conversation. But when his eyes fell on his brother again, he noticed that Dean was looking at him almost remorsefully.

"I wish it had been any other day than your birthday, Sam."

It took the younger hunter a minute to realize that Dean was right. He had been killed on the second of May, which was, in fact, Sam's birthday. He had been so obsessed with trying to find a way to get his brother out of his contract that he had completely forgotten. The fact that Dean had remembered warmed a part of Sam's heart that had long since been closed off.

He furrowed his brow slightly and pursed his lips in such a way that they almost pouted ruefully. He looked down between them, at the television, at the window…anywhere but his brother. When he finally did he noticed his throat tighten. He refused to cry about this. He absolutely refused.

But it seemed damn near impossible to keep his voice from at least wavering when he heard Dean say:

"Happy belated birthday, Sammy."

Sam didn't hesitate at that moment to move across the couch and wrap his arms tightly around his brother's shoulders. It wasn't until he felt Dean's around his upper waist that he really felt like almost breaking down. For some reason, it was almost as if those words and the emotions behind them had broken the floodgates, and all of the feelings that Sam had kept pent up inside of him were starting to pour out. But all that actually did was a brief sniffle and some moisture in his eyes.

He had hardened himself well.

Sam soon pulled back, looking at Dean gratefully. He didn't say anything, but he didn't feel like he had to.

He was never so happy to have his brother beside him.


	12. Night at the Bar

**Author's Notes: **Ack. School starts on Monday. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter of this story put up by then! It's been a busy week or so, but I've actually been working on things for this story. As I thought, watching Supernatural has activated my muse again, or at least got her going. Always a plus! We'll see what happens. ;) Things personally aren't going AS well as I'd like, but certainly not as badly as they were before. Thanks for all the kindness! I hope you all enjoy this chapter just the same as the rest. Please don't forget to leave me a review letting me know what you thought!

* * *

Sam rolled over in his bed, fast asleep. Since having saved Dean, the dreams had stopped, giving him the peaceful rest that he had longed for. A couple days had passed since he and Dean had shared their moment in Bobby's living room, and in that time, things about the house proceeded normally, despite the uncomfortable tension between the younger hunter and Bobby. Dean remained completely unaware, and that was the way that Sam wanted to keep it. His brother was almost fully recovered, and that was the most important thing to him.

At some point in the middle of the night, Sam woke abruptly. Like before, he didn't feel tired in the slightest, and he didn't exactly understand why. His eyes stared into the darkness, where something felt…off. It almost felt like he was being watched. Slowly he sat up, scratching at his chest. He couldn't see anything in the dark, but he could _feel_ it.

"Who's there?" he asked.

No response came at first. Then, after a few moments of silence, Sam heard a familiar voice say, "Meet me downstairs."

He rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out why he couldn't see _anything_, despite the fact that the moon outside should have cast some kind of glow in the room. For a second he hesitated, not feeling entirely comfortable leaving Dean alone, who was sleeping soundly in the bed next to him. But he needed to.

Slipping out of his bed, Sam padded across the wooden floor of the room into the hallway, and then down the stairs. The floorboards squeaked and groaned beneath his feet, and he swore that, with all the silence, that alone would wake up either his brother or Bobby. He waited at the bottom landing for a minute to make sure that nobody stirred above. When nobody came down, he turned his head to look across the entryway toward the sitting room. Nobody was in there, but the kitchen light was on, which poured across the floor and cast a glow on some of the items in the room. He slowly made his way toward the kitchen so as to give his eyes time to adjust to the change in brightness.

Standing next to the refrigerator with a bottle of water in her hand was Ruby. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain red shirt, over which she had a partially buttoned up black jacket. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders.

She turned her attention to Sam. "Thought I'd give you some time with Dean before I came in and ruined your party."

"Normally I'd have some witty retort for this, but at the moment, I'm…well. Something." Sam slipped his hands into the pockets of his flannel pajama bottoms. "What's so important that it couldn't wait until morning? How'd you get in here anyway, Ruby? Bobby's got this place protected to the teeth."

"What, you don't want an update on what's going on out in the world? Sam, I know you haven't left the house since you saved your brother. Do you _know_ what's happened since then?"

There was something about the way that Ruby said what she did that made Sam uncomfortable. Not to mention she had completely ignored his second question. He looked at her, unsure of what to ask so that he would get the appropriate answer. "I dunno, Ruby," he settled on saying. "Why don't you tell me?"

Ruby smiled faintly, almost in amusement. "Well, since you asked. You'll be happy to know that all those dozens of demons that you freed have spread out all over the United States. And on top of that, I found out that Lilith is on the move again. I think you've got her scared."

Sam blinked, and a disbelieving look appeared on his face. "I've got her scared. How?"

Ruby snorted. "God, Sam, how can you be so powerful and so _clueless_ at the same time?" She shook her head. "You killed that crossroads demon and took the Colt. You used it to open the Devil's Gate, and you saved your brother's soul, which you successfully reunited with his body. You think that that all went unseen or unheard by Lilith? Guess again."

That should have been something he would expect, but Sam had been so focused on Dean that everything else fell to the wayside. His fervent need to save his brother had blinded him to all other issues…Lilith had to be more than aware now that he had a pretty strong grasp on his powers. It wouldn't surprise him that she was on the move again. But what was she doing?

"So, when you say on the move…do you mean she's coming after me, or what?"

"I already told you. You survived her attack, Sam. She's not coming after you, herself. She's gonna be sending demons after you whenever she gets the chance."

Sam refrained from rolling his eyes. Dryly, he said, "Last time you said that, I expected all kinds of demons to come crawling out of the woodwork, and all I managed to come across was that incubus. And I don't think it really gave a damn about me. Until I killed it, anyways."

Ruby's expression quickly became irritated. "Look, Sam. Just keep a watch out. Things could get bumpy when you and your brother leave. Dean was supposed to stay in Hell, and Lilith's probably real angry that you got him out."

"With your help."

"Yeah, and she _probably_ knows that, too."

As weird as it felt, Sam wasn't all that worried. He remembered the look of sheer fear in Lilith's eyes when she had been unable to kill him, unable to use her powers on him. He didn't fear her as much as he did the demons that very well could have been coming after him right at that very moment. But he and Dean had dealt with that for years. They were prepared. If anything, they were _better_ prepared now that Sam had his powers under his belt.

That brought a faint smirk to his lips.

"Don't get cocky," Ruby warned dryly. "You may have your powers, Sam, but there's a hell of a lot of demons out there. You can't take them all on at once."

"No, but I'm a lot more able than I was before."

Ruby smiled almost twistedly. "Mm, sure. You tell Dean yet?"

All it took were those words for his mood to crash. She obviously knew the answer, because she was staring at him in a near smug manner. Why she would feel that way, he didn't know. Then again, Sam almost never understood Ruby, her strange intentions, or her feelings. She was an enigma, and that bothered him sometimes. It felt like she was trying to pick at him.

"No," he confessed.

She took a brief sip of her water. Capping the bottle, she said, "Didn't think so."

"I'm going to," Sam insisted suddenly, petulantly. "But I wanted Dean to get better before he had to deal with it."

"You know how he's gonna take it. It's not going to be pretty." Ruby pursed her lips and eyed Sam. "Probably should have done it when he was weaker."

"You think I don't know this?" He was angry that it had been brought up, _again_. First Bobby, now Ruby. Both of them were making him feel bad for having done it, which rubbed him the wrong way, since Ruby had been the one to suggest it in the first place.

But then, Sam had been the one to listen. Nobody _forced_ him to do it. He had nobody to blame but himself for being put in this situation.

He sighed. "Did you find your dagger yet?"

"No," Ruby admitted. "But I bet that what we thought before is right; it probably was taken for some kind of leverage. And assuming Lilith is involved is likely another safe bet. After all, she still wants you dead. But you've got the Colt now. I'm guessing that's what put her on the move."

It was weird to think that he did, in fact, have the Colt. Even Dean had been surprised that he had gotten a hold of it. Sam didn't exactly tell him the truth as to how he had gotten it, because that all tied in to his powers, and if Dean didn't know about those, then what was the point? The whole thing was a tangled web of lies, and now that Sam was being confronted with it, he felt horribly guilty. Anything to save Dean…even including lying to him about everything afterward.

"Well, she better look out," Sam muttered. "I'm tired of her killing innocent people and having her demons possess them, too. Too many lives have been lost because of her. And it's gonna stop."

"Ooh, look at you, getting all serious." Ruby smirked. "I'm getting chills, Sam." She snorted. "You'd probably want to keep your alert up from this point forward. I'd say it's safe to assume that pretty much anybody you run into could be a demon, looking to kill you or get the Colt from you. First there was Bela, and now there's this. You're gonna have your hands full."

"At least I'm not alone now."

Ruby paused. Her lighter attitude subsided quickly, and in its place came silence. She soon looked almost unconvinced, and even a little irritated. She sounded incredulous.

"You never were, Sam."

. . .

Dean pulled into the dimly lit parking lot, giving his brother a wide, almost playful, grin.

"All right, Sammy. We're here. Let's go get ourselves some drinks."

A few days had passed since Sam had spoken with Ruby in the middle of the night about what to expect in the near future. And in those days, Dean—who had become healthier and healthier by that point—grew antsy to go out into the community again. This was a surprise to Sam, given that when they had pizza delivered not too long ago, Dean had seemed positively frightened by the concept of interacting with the pizza guy. But his brother was an enigma all in himself, and some days he seemed outgoing and sociable, and then others he was quite the opposite.

Tonight seemed like the former. So, Sam decided to accompany him to the local pub, because like always, a good drink was usually the way to get Dean out of the house and feeling good. He looked better at that very moment than he had the entire time he was cooped up indoors. Sam chalked that up to the fact that Dean's night terrors had seemingly taken a break, and no longer did he sport large, dark circles under his eyes that normally had a bit of fear in them. Plus, he was more cheerful, his wounds had healed mostly, and he was acting more like his old self.

Things were still touch and go for the most part. Any time the subject of Hell was brought up, as before, Dean would still shoot it down. This was even from Bobby, who was genuinely concerned for Dean's well being, just as Sam was. But the older Winchester was having none of it, and at one point, had even gotten so angry about it that he didn't talk to either of them for an entire day. The house remained tense, but like with everything, it eventually just got swept under the rug to be dealt with later.

That was probably why Sam was excited about getting out of the house and just doing something normal and fun with his brother that didn't involve hunting or drama. They were both dressed casually, as they always were, with their boots, their jeans, their solid color cotton shirts and their button-up over-shirts. It helped them to fit in with the crowd at the Sioux County Pub, which they entered, looking for a place to sit. The décor inside was much like any other bar—majority of the building was done up with dark, varnished woods, including the walls, the bar itself, and the tables. The lighting was a little dim, all of it coming from small fixtures that hung from the somewhat high ceiling above, one over each table, several over the bar, and a cluster above the pair of pool tables in the far eastern corner of the room.

Dean gestured for Sam to get them a small, round table not too far from the bar. There was probably upwards of a dozen patrons in the place besides the two of them, giving the pub a cozier, more closely-knit ambiance. Everybody seemed to know one another because there were jokes and comments flying back and forth all over the place. Sam recalled coming here once with Dean and Bobby, but it had been at least two years ago. The event was fuzzy in his mind. The alcohol had probably done it to him.

It didn't take long for Dean to come back with two beers, and, taking a seat, he set them on top of the polished tabletop, looking at his brother with the same grin from before. Sam couldn't explain it, but seeing that grin was almost oddly comforting.

"Too bad there aren't any pretty chicks around to look at tonight," Dean commented with just a hint of disappointment in his voice. He swigged back some of his beer from the frothy mug. "Could've used some."

"There'll be more elsewhere some other day," Sam reassured him with a light chuckle. He sipped at his own beer. "The world always has pretty chicks for you. It's like a rule."

"And a damn good one, I might add."

Although silence broke out between them after that, it was obvious that neither one was particularly bothered by it. In fact, Sam and Dean sat there for several minutes completely quietly, either glancing at one another, drinking, or looking at the people around them.

Eventually Dean cleared his throat as a means of catching Sam's attention.

"You know," he began, "the bartender looked like he'd seen a ghost when I walked up to him and asked for drinks. You didn't tell anyone I was…"—he made the gesture of getting his neck sliced open and leaned in to say quietly—"dead, did you?"

"No," Sam said slowly, shaking his head. He couldn't help but made a slightly bothered face at the question. "Nobody knew that you were, except for me, Bobby, and—" he paused quickly. Not Ruby, he corrected himself. "Well, you know, just us …"

Dean raised an eyebrow and looked back over his shoulder toward the bartender in question. He was short, somewhat chubby, with peach fuzz for hair that was hidden beneath a trucker's hat. He was wiping down the countertop.

"Maybe he just spooks easy," Sam suggested. "Wouldn't be the first bartender like that. You know? Small town."

The older Winchester returned his gaze to his brother after having stared at the bartender for some time. He gave no response to the comment. Instead he took a drink, setting the mug back down on the smooth surface. There was a focused look on his face.

"Don't be so paranoid," Sam murmured with a shrug.

Dean seemed to take that to heart. He gave a nod. "Yeah, you're right. It's not like everyone out there's a…well, you know." He glanced around them. "A demon."

Suddenly, Ruby's words popped into Sam's head. It would be safe to assume anyone would be a demon. If that held true, then anyone in the pub at that moment could very well have been a demon. Sam's eyes darted around carefully, taking in the immediate location of the people there. There were three around the bar, including the bartender; four sitting around a table nearby; and then there were five at the pool tables—three at one and two at the other. Nobody looked particularly dangerous. But now that he had recalled what Ruby had said, it made things entirely different.

Don't be so paranoid, he reminded himself. Hadn't he just told Dean that?

Sam and Dean continued to drink, up until the point when it came time for refills. Dean moved to get up but Sam insisted on doing it himself, since the other had gotten them in the first place. He took the two empty mugs up to the bar after a light protest from his brother, and, setting them on its surface, he said:

"Two more beers?"

The short man in the trucker hat surfaced from far down the other end of the bar, two mugs already in his hands. Sam gave him a polite smile as he filled them up from under the tap.

"What're you boys doin' here?" the man asked conversationally. "Don't often get younger men travelin' through these parts."

"Oh, we're just…visiting a friend," Sam settled on saying. "We'll probably be leaving soon."

"Oh? Who's your friend? Probably know him, in a town like this." The man set the mugs on the counter, just below the bar.

"His name's Bobby," Sam offered tentatively. He didn't want to make too much of a connection, just for all of their safety. The less people knew about them all, the better. Especially at a time like this, when they would be preparing to uproot themselves soon.

"Oh, you mean Singer? He runs that auto yard, don't he?" The man, smiling in an oddly reminiscent way, lifted the mugs from the counter and set them on the bar. He, however, kept hold of the handles, preventing Sam from taking them. "Nice guy, Singer. But I hear he's into some weird things."

Something inside of Sam tensed up. He wanted to look at Dean, but he refrained from doing so. Instead he just pretended to look surprised. "Huh? Really? Weird. Never heard of it." He hoped that his tone conveyed his desire to not speak any further, and here he reached out for the drinks, but the older man kept his grip on them. That made Sam tense up even more.

Why were things so quiet all of the sudden, he wondered?

The tall hunter glanced over his shoulder, noticing that several of the patrons of the bar were gone, including the ones standing by the bar previously. He didn't know where they got off to…

What the man said next made his heart jump.

"Wouldn't be surprised if you were into that weird stuff, too."

When Sam turned back around to look at him, he gave a lightly surprised gasp and stumbled back. The shorter one's eyes were completely black, and there was a mischievous smirk on his face. Right at that moment Sam heard Dean call his name, and he turned his head. Each and every person sitting at the table near where the Winchesters were had gotten up, and all of them looked suspicious and malevolent. Dean was standing up now, too, going for the knife that he kept around his ankle.

In the split second that Sam had looked away, the barkeep reached out, gripped the loose jacket he was wearing, and brought him dangerously close, so they were nearly face-to-face. Sam could smell his putrid breath wash over his nostrils and it made him sick.

"Stupid move, Sam. You should have known we'd be waiting and watching for you and your brother to come out from your hiding place. You think we wouldn't notice?"

Sam struggled to free himself from the man's grasp. He nearly snarled as he said, "Let me go, you stupid—"

"Ah, ah! Play nice, little boy king, or we'll send your brother right back beyond the cast iron gates to Hell."

The barkeep turned his attention to the four individuals at the table, who were now fighting with Dean. There were three men and one woman, all of whom were moving in to grab at him, but none of whom could seemingly get close enough without him attempting to slice their limbs off.

"Back off!" Dean yelled.

"Bunch of lower level demons is all you are," Sam muttered to the man grasping hold of his jacket. "You don't even have any powers. If you did, you would have come after us no matter what."

"Oh, we can't all be like you, Sam," the man said, mock ruefully. He let him go in a sudden move that sent the taller hunter stumbling back into the waist-level bar that rested between two support columns just behind him. The demon jumped over the counter in a surprising display of agility for the body chosen. Just as he was about to attack, Sam recovered from the previous one, stuck his hand out warningly and said:

"You're right. You can't. So back off, or I'll make you regret it."

"Sam!" Dean shouted.

Dean's voice caught his younger brother's attention. Hand still extended, Sam realized that he couldn't use his powers without revealing to Dean that he had developed them. And that was something that he wasn't ready to do. That was a fight that he hadn't yet fully prepared for. He, however, kept his hand reaching outward, while he struggled to gracefully snatch the knife attached to his own calf. He managed to do so, but not quite as quickly or as nimbly as he would have liked. The demon was approaching him.

"Come on, Sammy," the barkeep said. "Why don't you use those powers of yours on us and show us what you're really capable of?"

Sam's attention was diverted to his brother nearby, who was moving in closer to him with his front still facing the four demons. They didn't look like they were trying to attack him now, which was what confused Sam. If they wanted to hurt the two Winchesters, they clearly had them outnumbered. Even with his powers, he didn't think that he and Dean could take all of them without some kind of repercussion, or _con_cussion.

Soon Sam and Dean were back to back, surrounded by seven, maybe eight, demons—his mind was a little too strung out to try and count. His and his brother's knives were no use in a room full of supernaturally enhanced creatures like these.

Maybe he didn't have a choice.

"We can do this, Sam," Dean encouraged him.

There was a very brief wavering in his voice that Sam caught, and it worried him. Dean's voice had never wavered or stammered or anything like that before when they fought evil forces. That was when he also noticed that Dean was shaking. His entire body was shaking.

"Dean," Sam said.

"We can do this!" Dean repeated, louder and more forceful this time.

To Sam, it sounded almost as if he were trying to convince himself instead of him.

Despite the fear and panic that coursed through him because of what now stood before them as opposition, Sam actually felt more dread at the thought of Dean catching sight of him using his powers. Part of him thought it was horrible that he had seemingly gotten over this—or had told himself that he had—but was now once again suffering from the worry that came along with it. Hadn't he thought before that Dean would just have to accept it, since it was Sam's powers that had saved him in the first place? That without them, Dean would still be suffering torture in Hell?

It was that thought that managed to finally get Sam over the hump. He didn't have to be entirely on the offensive. In fact, he often said a good offense was an even better defense. And if he could just…

Within a moment he had his hands up, focusing intently on every evil, malignant force in the room. Like he had with the crossroads demon, Sam thought of freezing them in place. Sure enough, not but a second later all the demons struggled to move their hosts' feet and arms, but didn't manage to get anywhere. The barkeep in front of them looked incredibly frustrated.

"What a move, Sam, what a move! Trying to disable us, huh? Well, too bad we can break out of something like this!"

"I didn't do it," Sam lied bluntly. He saw how confused his brother looked. But what really caught his attention was the fact that Dean was still shaking like a leaf—and there was fear in his eyes that Sam hadn't seen in some time. It threatened to break his concentration, and so he tore his gaze away, looking to the barkeep.

"Like hell you didn't!" he said. "What d'you think you're doing? Let us go, or you're in for a world of hurt!"

As best he could, Sam tried to keep the demons in place. He could feel them struggling and could sense their overwhelming power attempting to overthrow his. If it hadn't been for his sudden chanting that broke out loudly inside the bar, he wouldn't have been able to hold them back. But that, combined with his power, seemed to do the trick.

"No!" one of the demons shouted suddenly. "_No_!"

Sam continued to chant loudly, speaking the Latin phrases clearly and firmly that would exorcise the demons from their hosts. The further into the chant he moved the more howling and screaming could be heard from the demons surrounding them, until finally, when he finished, a mass collection of thick, opaque black smoke clouds erupted from the bodies, where they dissipated into the ceiling. What surprised Sam the most was the sudden sensation of Dean moving in close to him, almost as if Sam would shield him from what was happening. He looked down at his brother and saw that he was still trembling violently.

After taking a moment to make sure that everything was said and done and that all of the demons in the bar had been exorcised, Sam returned to his brother, who was still standing in the same spot and who looked like he might be sick.

Sam asked worriedly, "Dean, you all right?"

It took Dean a moment to respond with, "No."


	13. The Truth Comes Out

**Author's Notes: **Good news! I've finished the story! I know, surprising, right? But, I did. After seeing the first episode, it got me right back running again to finish it up. I wrote the rest of the story out in the expanse of about a week. Which is good, because school has started, and I've got five classes, and will be majorly busy.

A note, though. Those who have read from the beginning might remember reading me saying that I had the entire plot line for the story done out already before I started writing. This is still true. Unfortunately, what's gone on in the show is...surprisingly similar to what I had planned out way back in July/August. This was before anything even about season 4 came out--I also don't read spoilers because I don't want to spoil myself! So, bear with me. My story runs a fine line parallel to what Kripke's got going for season 4. You'll see what I mean as things come up. At any rate, please enjoy :)

Don't forget to review! :D

* * *

"Dean, what's wrong?"

Sam had never seen his brother look so shaken up with so little provocation. Facing demons wasn't—nor had it ever been—an issue for Dean. From the earliest time he could remember, Sam had always seen his brother with a strong will to fight and protect. If he ever showed fear, it was through entirely different means. These kinds of actions were not only strange, but they were completely _unlike_ him.

"Nothing," Dean replied quickly, dismissively. He gave a full body shake and muttered something about it being cold inside the bar, but Sam actually felt quite the opposite.

Without really thinking about it, Sam reached out and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. He was more than a little surprised when the other suddenly jerked almost violently, pulling back and looking at Sam like he was some kind of monster.

"Sorry," he apologized immediately. Dean still looked fearful, but he shook his head and sniffed deeply. "I just…"

"Dean. Seriously, what's going on?"

When his brother went quiet again, Sam wanted to insist that he be told what was wrong. But why he had been so blind to it in the first place, he didn't know. He realized that these were the first demons that Dean had come across since having come back from Hell. The fear that he felt wasn't unfounded; if anything, it was _fully_ founded.

Sam let out a breath slowly through his nose. "Oh."

Dean gave no verbal sign that Sam was, in fact, right in his assumption. Instead he just shifted almost uncomfortably on his feet, looking at his younger brother tiredly. He grunted quietly. Then: "We'll need to get out of here as quickly as possible."

"Do you think any of them are still alive?"

"Can't be sure. But, that's not our concern right now. Nearly a dozen demons just tried to attack us, so we've got to get out and back to Bobby's where we can arm ourselves properly."

While Sam could agree, he really wanted to stay and talk about what had happened. This was a good in, and even if he felt weird thinking it, Dean was emotionally unstable currently—his walls were down. This would be the perfect time to breech the subject of Hell again. But their safety came first. They needed to get back to Bobby's.

"Come on, let's go," Dean insisted.

Sam didn't hesitate or make a move to linger. He followed his brother out to the car, where he proceeded to briefly argue with him about who was going to drive. When the argument elevated to too high of a level too quickly, Sam backed down, allowing Dean to drive them back. It only took a few minutes, and both were quiet the entire car ride. When they pulled into Bobby's driveway Sam cleared his throat, but still said nothing.

That silence continued all the way to their walking through the front door. It was only when Bobby—who was making his way down the stairs—stopped and greeted them, that the two of them said something. Granted, it wasn't anything beyond a hello, but it was more than previous.

"What's got you two so somber?" Bobby asked, half joking, but half serious.

"You got all the windows and doors salted, right?" Dean asked.

Bobby snorted. "What, you think I wouldn't?"

"We were attacked at the bar, Bobby," Sam announced.

What he said changed the entire ambiance of the room. The oldest hunter looked somewhat surprised at first, but his expression soon hardened. "Attacked, huh?" He shook his head. "M'not entirely surprised…" Sam shot Bobby a very firm glare, but it didn't stop him from going further. "With all those demons out there that haven't seen hide nor tail of either of you for some time, it's not unexpected. Plus, Dean, you were supposed to be in Hell. It's been…what, nearly two weeks since you got out of there? Demons everywhere will probably be looking for you both."

Anxiety racked Sam's insides. He had dodged another bullet, yet again, but he was getting tired of having to do so. Not only that, but he was tired of the up and down roller coaster ride that was his emotions, of trying to keep his composure. Overall, he was just _tired_. But how was he going to approach all of this while still trying to get Dean to tell him about what happened down in Hell?

"You can both stay here as long as you want," Bobby offered. "But tonight, I've got something I have to do. I was just on my way out."

"Hunting?" Dean asked, sounding almost worried.

"Something like that. More recon than anything else. I'll be back later tonight. Now, you boys stay out of trouble. Don't go anywhere. You know you're safe here." Pocketing something he had in his hand, Bobby then moved between the two and past them, heading for the front door. Before he left, he turned to them and said, "Got my cell if you need to call or anything."

And with that said, Bobby was gone, the front door shutting behind him. Sam turned to Dean, who was looking toward the door with an unreadable expression on his face. When he faced his younger brother, it disappeared.

"Bobby's got some beer in the fridge, doesn't he?" Dean asked. Just as he was about to pull away, Sam reached out and gripped his wrist. It stopped the older one, who looked down, then back up again.

"Dean, we need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about, Sam," Dean said dismissively. "Now come on, let's go get some drinks. We intended to get drunk tonight, and I, for one, plan on keeping that intention." He tried to move again but Sam tightened his grip, which made Dean furrow his brow and open his mouth in disbelief. He gave a disagreeing sound. "_Sam_."

"Dean, no," Sam said sternly. "Listen, you froze up back there, and I know why."

"Do you, Sam?" Dean gave a harsh tug to pull his wrist away from the other's grip. He sounded agitated, and certainly looked it. "Huh? Do you? Why, then? Why'd I freeze up?"

Sam was bound and determined not to get worked up about this. For a moment he said nothing, but then, calmly, almost in that painfully psychiatrist-like voice, he said, "Those…were the first demons you've seen since you came back from Hell. I don't blame you for being scared."

"I wasn't scared," Dean grumbled.

"Like hell you weren't, Dean! You were shaking like a leaf. I've _never_ seen you act like that before."

"I was not!"

"Dean!"

"Fine!" Dean shouted. "Fine! Whatever! I was shaking like a leaf! I was scared! What the hell's it matter, anyway, Sam? You said you understood! That you don't blame me! If you don't, tell me why the fuck you're pushing so hard on this!"

Sam tensed up at the way his brother shouted. But, he kept his calm as best he could. It took an unsurprising amount of willpower. He took a deep breath. "Because, Dean. It's like Bobby said: demons are gonna be coming after us, and it isn't going to be pretty. I need to know if you need more time to be okay with all of this."

"I was never okay with all of this!" Dean admitted abruptly. It confused Sam, who looked at him with uncertainty. "I wasn't okay with it," the older one repeated, but more firmly than loudly this time.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm supposed to be dead, Sam! I'm not supposed to be here right now, talking with you, standing in this room, being able to move around freely like this." Dean took a brief walk around the small entryway, stopping by his brother. "This isn't…how it's supposed to be."

"Screw 'supposed to be'!" Sam suddenly barked. His tone managed to even make Dean stiffen up. "I couldn't break your contract like I promised, Dean! Do you know how horrible that was? How _horrific_ it was to try and deal with all of that? _And_ try and find a way to save you? I thought about doing a deal, I really did! But what I did was—" He stopped himself, willing himself to calm down. "I did something that…"

But he couldn't continue. There was no way of saying what he needed to next without fully admitting what he had done to save his brother. And screw it all, Sam thought. It was going to come out eventually. It might as well have been when he was worked up enough not to care as much. Dean looked at him expectantly.

"I opened the Devil's Gate myself and brought you back," he admitted. "I need you."

Dean made a face, almost as if he didn't believe what Sam had said. "Sam, there's no _way_ you could have opened that gate. There just isn't. Plus, how would you even _close_ it if you _did_ open it?" Sam looked at his brother openly, and this made the older one's face fall. It was clear that the message got across, and that Dean wasn't quite sure how to react to it. In fact, his face soon became blank.

"Dean—"

"Sam, don't." The older Winchester shook his head and held up his hand warningly when the younger one attempted to approach him. "Just…don't." The way he was acting was a clear indication that he understood the underlying, hidden message behind this entire conversation. He took a step back and almost refused to look at Sam, which felt like a gunshot to the latter's heart.

"Dean," he said again, but quieter.

"No."

To Sam's surprise, though he felt certain disappointment and fear that his brother might now hate him, there was a righteous sense of anger inside of him, as well. Dean didn't know the hell that he had gone through—trying to preserve his body, and trying to work with his powers so that he could save him. Didn't know about the sleepless nights, the horrible dreams, or the sickness his little brother felt over the whole thing. Sam had figuratively gone to Hell and back to get everything set up so that he could bring his brother back, and now, Dean was acting like none of that mattered. He was acting disgusted and scared, neither of which the younger one appreciated.

He set his jaw tightly.

"I wondered why the demons couldn't move _before_ you started the exorcism," Dean said slowly, almost disdainfully. "Why they were saying what they did. I can't believe you, Sam. _Why_?"

"Because without them, Dean, you would have been in Hell for God only knows how long."

"Who even told you that your powers would save me after—" but Dean stopped as the sudden realization of who it was dawned upon him. He looked completely flabbergasted, a look which soon morphed into near revulsion. "You are fucking _kidding_ me. Were you seriously that _desperate_?"

Sam didn't like the tone that Dean was using with him, and that, coupled with the way he was acting, sent the younger one over the edge. He couldn't be calm about this any more. Not with that attitude, and most certainly not with that complete disregard for how difficult it had all been for him.

"How could I, Dean? How could I not stand by and let you stew in the fine pit of Hell? How come I listened to the one person who said she could save your life, and who ended up being _right_? You were _dead_!" Sam was shouting now, his voice hitting levels it hadn't in quite some time. He threw his hands up in the air. "So forgive me if I was so _desperate_ that I was willing to take a chance on something that could work soon instead of waiting for _months_ for one of Bobby's _possible_ leads! Forgive me for wanting to stop you from having to suffer eternal hellfire and torture! Excuse me for fucking caring about your _soul_!"

"At least Bobby's leads don't include you going to the Dark Side!" Dean countered.

"The Dark Side?" Sam scoffed. "God, Dean, do you—you don't _get_ it! Do I _look_ like I've gone to the Dark Side to you? Do I _look_ like I'm going around, being all demonic? No!" He pulled away from the landing of the staircase and headed toward the archway of the sitting room with the fireplace. "I worked so god damned _hard_ on this. And do you know the _torture_ I went through? The _fear_ I felt, thinking I was gonna become some evil being just because I was learning to control powers that I got from some creepy ass demon, and that I didn't even want in the first place?!"

While Sam continued to shout and rant, Dean stared at him, nearly gawking. But he didn't interrupt, because it was clear that the younger Winchester had a lot on his chest that needed to come out, and breaking his momentum would likely be dangerous.

"I was—I was _so_ scared that something was gonna happen," Sam continued, quieter than before, "So scared that I was gonna lose my humanity, or that I was gonna kill someone, or even myself. But I didn't. I _didn't_. I prayed every damn night that things would be all right, and that you were doing okay. I felt _horrible_, because _I_ was the reason you were there in the first place."

"Sam," Dean interrupted, despite his better judgment. He stepped closer to his brother, but it was Sam's turn to hold up a warning hand.

"No, Dean, don't. You asked why, you're getting why. Now listen." When Dean shut up again, the younger one went off once more. "So, yeah, it might have not been the _best_ way to go about saving you, but it sure as hell worked. Not to mention that in the process, not only did I get back the Colt, but I managed to figure out a way to scare the crap out of Lilith, too."

Dean suddenly cleared his throat. "Wait."

"What?"

"If you opened the Devil's Gate again, then you released another buttload of demons, didn't you?" Dean pointed accusingly at his brother. "God damn it, Sam! I'm not worth that!"

"Yes you _ARE__!_"

Sam's sudden barking yell made Dean wince. Silence fell upon them after that. For one, Dean was still shocked by the outburst, and two, Sam didn't know what else to say that would make the situation any better. They simply stared at one another for a good few moments before finally, the younger hunter moved closer to his brother.

He stared down at him and sighed. "You're my brother, Dean. It's like I told you. I would do anything to save you. Just like you did for me."

Dean looked like he wanted to say something, but he set his jaw and kept silent. He sighed in that way he always did—just a little one, followed by the pursing of his lips—before he just nodded, almost as if he were giving in.

"There's gotta be another way to get Lilith," he murmured. "You still have Ruby's dagger, right?"

"No," Sam admitted. "Somebody stole it from Ruby, and—"

"Why does _she_ have it?" Dean asked.

Sam's tone grew quicker as he ended his sentence, as he saw the frustration in his brother's eyes. "Because it was what she wanted in return for teaching me how to save you!"

"And you _gave_ it to her? Sam!"

"Dean! We've been _over_ this! I'd do _anything_ to save you. I didn't even hesitate, because you—"

"Yeah, well, look where it got us now," Dean muttered without even letting the other finish.

"Whatever," Sam quipped. "All that matters is that you're here, now. Getting it back won't be any harder than getting the Colt back. If I can do that, I can _get_ the damn knife back."

The older Winchester parted his lips to say something, but nothing came out. He had a frustrated look on his face, like he was struggling to say something, only he couldn't get it to surface. Instead he just gave a grunt. And in a move somewhat unlike him, he said, "Fine."

Sam, of course, knew what 'fine' meant. He knew when Dean gave in like that, that he was simply doing it because he was tired of arguing and would bring it up later when he was refreshed. It would just be thrown on the pile of things that needed to be talked about.

Like questioning Dean about Hell. Now had been the perfect time, but Sam lost it, and now he regretted it. He didn't know when another opportunity like previous one would arise again, if it ever even did. He could have cursed himself.

Dean tugged at the sides of his jacket briskly. "I still want that beer."

Sam said nothing, but gestured toward the kitchen. When his brother walked past him he watched him carefully, trying to cool down the anger that was burning inside of him.

. . .

"Got everything?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam grunted, hoisting their last bag of belongings into the impala.

Things between them after the fight had been more or less tense, despite the fact that neither of them brought it back up again. Only a day had passed since then and the two Winchesters decided—or rather, Dean decided and Sam simply went along with it like he always did—that they were going to leave and get back on the saddle. Bobby, who was standing beside the car watching the two of them, was none the wiser about what had taken place between them. And to them, it was better that way.

"Sure you wanna leave so soon?" Bobby asked, an eyebrow raised.

"We got lots of damage control still to do," Dean explained. He clasped his hands together. "Better to get it done and out of the way now than to let it fester, right?"

"Spoken like a true hunter."

Dean smiled, although Sam didn't figure it was because he appreciated what Bobby said. Though things were still tense between him and the older hunter, Sam still gave Bobby a hug. He had helped a lot in spite of everything that had happened.

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said upon pulling back.

A somewhat surprised look took over Bobby's face. "You're welcome, Sam." Dean then hugged him, and he cleared his throat. "You boys keep in contact, all right? I ain't goin' anywhere."

"We'll keep you updated," Dean said. He gripped the handle on his door, hesitating momentarily on opening it. "Stay out of trouble," he added with a grin.

Bobby smirked. "Aren't I the one who should be sayin' that?"

"Bye, Bobby," Sam said.

"Bye, Dean, Sam. You two be careful."

Their response was automatic. "We will."

As they got into the impala, Sam found himself once again suffering from that obnoxious sense of anxiety. Everything on the surface seemed fine. But he knew that just below it lay any number of problems. Bobby was probably going to keep tabs on him whenever he could, and he knew for a fact that Dean was. Both were angry with him for the way he had gone about saving his brother, but he didn't see himself as being fully responsible for the blame. He had done what anybody in his position would have done: he found the quickest way to save his loved one from suffering. His righteous sense of brotherhood was keeping him from seeing their side of the story, what they thought should have been done.

But honestly, he didn't care.

Dean turned over the ignition and the impala roared to life. Rock music instantly began to blast from the speakers, and even though Sam was worried, it melted quickly away. Everything felt right again.

Dean pulled out of Bobby's driveway and paused just long enough to shift gears and take one last look at the Singer household. Sam looked, too, but his lasted much shorter than Dean's. He felt conflicted about leaving. Doing so meant leaving behind safety and comfort. But, it also meant being back on the road and going after Lilith and her hoards of demons, which would effectively do wonders for the world. That desire had never changed inside Sam. Demon hunting would remain a priority. He had absolutely no intention of joining their ranks.

He had a feeling that Dean would fight to the death against that, anyways.

That amusing thought made Sam smile faintly, although it probably shouldn't have. He gave Bobby's house one final look before Dean began driving off, taking them God knew where.

But they were together again. That was all that mattered. Any problems they would face, be they personal, supernatural or familial, they would get through them together.

They always had, and Sam was sure they always _would_.


	14. The Beat Goes On

**Author's Notes: Well, I survived the first week of classes. Nice. I've got five courses this term, so...we'll see how everything goes. I'm gonna keep updating this story about every five days with a new chapter, so keep that in mind :D Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the rest. Don't forget to review!**

* * *

It had been about two weeks since Dean and Sam had left Bobby's house. And in that time, to their surprise, not much happened to them. They drove around from state to state, town to town, trying to find hints of supernatural occurrences. For them, that was usually pretty simple.

But now, it was almost as if everything was intentionally hiding from them. Any deaths they investigated were naturally caused. Any electrical interference was a power problem. What was stranger—no demon had set foot near them in _any_ of that time.

Of course, neither of them knew why, exactly, this was. After all, the demons had been quite eager to attack them at the bar back in South Dakota. Sam thought that perhaps the reason why had to do specifically with what _happened_ at the bar. He had exorcised nearly a dozen demons there, much like he had back in Colorado, back in the police station. And after that, things had been quiet for a while, too. It would make some sense.

Not that he was complaining. Things between him and Dean had been tense ever since their argument back in Bobby's house, and it was only after a fight that had turned physical not too long thereafter that they were finally able to get over what stuck between them. Sam still sported the black eye from that, though it had more or less faded by now. However, he wore it with comfort, knowing that because of it, Dean had finally been able to come to terms with the fact—or at least partially—that his brother now had stronger, better control over his psychic powers, and that those powers would come in handy when they had to deal with what lay ahead of them.

Sam hadn't had a chance to use his powers recently, however. With no demons chasing after them and no visions coming to him in his sleep, there was no reason to.

It was basically as if he and Dean were living a normal life again. Or rather, as normal a life as they could.

And neither of them was going to protest for the time being. For one, the weather was too hot. It was now early July, and their travels had led them deep into the south to Louisiana, after following a trail that had gone cold. The muggy, humid air of the state was enough to put both boys nearly out of commission.

In order to escape it they decided to stay indoors all day. Neither was stupid enough to try driving in the middle of the afternoon. Especially with the impala's A/C acting up as it had been over the past couple of days.

"God, it's so damn _hot_."

Dean tugged at his thin grey shirt, which clung to his moist skin. Even with the air conditioning in the room, the thick miasma hanging in the air made it hotter than it should have been. He draped himself over his single bed, eying the television across the room.

Sam ignored his brother's complaint. That was the fourth time within the hour that he had muttered something about the heat. But, since he insisted on wearing pants, a shirt and socks, the younger hunter figured he had no room to talk. He himself was clad only in his boxers and an A-shirt. And sure, he was still warm, but not enough to keep bringing it up. He was distracting himself in other ways. He had his laptop on in front of him on his own bed, resting on a serving platter that had come with their breakfast.

Originally the two of them had come down here toward the bogs of the south in order to investigate the disappearance of a young girl from her family and her hotel near one where she was staying. Given the lore related to bogs and creatures like Will-o'-the-wisps that haunted them, it had been his assumption that that was what they were dealing with. There had been others signs, as well—things that seemed to confirm Sam's suspicions.

But it had taken them at least a full day to drive down there, even with Dean's driving like a bat out of hell. And in that time, the girl had been discovered some ways away, completely fine. Sam only found that out upon their checking into a hotel room for the day and using their internet.

Dean had reamed him for not investigating it completely. Sam had yelled at him defensively. And now here they sat, with one watching television to pass the time and the other trying almost desperately to find _something_ going on, just so that the heavy feeling of fear that something big was coming wouldn't weigh so heavily on his shoulders. That, and so that he also didn't feel guilty for having dragged them all the way down here.

At first nothing appeared in his searches. Like before, all newspaper and magazine articles he read online all had a severe lack of anything supernatural to them.

That was, until a feed on top of his browser updated itself a new article entitled: "Another Disappearance at Minnesota's Big Bog State Recreation Area". Furrowing his brow slightly, he tapped on his touch pad and brought the article up, reading the first words quietly aloud to himself:

"Police have reported yet another disappearance at Minnesota's famous bog site that occurred just two nights ago…"

As he continued reading, Sam learned that there had been three unexplained, unsolved disappearances at the bog site since the beginning of June. That set off alarms in his head. _This_ is what he should have gone after. _This_ would have made more sense. How he had missed it, he didn't know. But there had to be _something_ going on up there.

"Dean."

The older Winchester, nursing a bottle of water, turned his head toward his brother. The bottle popped and cracked as he pulled it from his mouth. "What?"

"I think I found us something."

"What."

It didn't even sound like a question. Sam supposed he couldn't blame him. Dean didn't like the heat, nor did he do well with it. And after the goose chase, it would make sense for him to be wary of a possible lead.

"There's been three disappearances over the last month or so at this huge bog park in Minnesota."

"So you're thinking it's some spirit again, is that it?" Dean asked. He didn't sound as irritated as before, and in fact he shifted on the bed, moving to sit with his legs draped over the side. "How can you be sure?"

"That's what I'm thinking, yeah. All three of the disappearances have yet to be solved. No bodies found, nothing."

"And it started in June."

"Right."

"Well, that's better than a few days, at least." Dean grunted lightly and stood. He moved in closer to Sam so he could take a peek at the screen.

"Says here all three people were by themselves, too. That's a big marker."

"You thinking it's another Will-o'-the-wisp then? 'Cause I'm not driving all the way to freaking Minnesota if there's nothing out there. That's a long ass drive."

"It's better than sitting here in the heat and melting to death, isn't it?" Sam asked somewhat tersely.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Ugh. If we're leaving tonight, I need to go check and see what's going on with the A/C in my baby and make sure it's nothing too serious."

Sam refrained from making a joke about Dean's precious baby, and instead dragged the mouse further down the page so that he could see more of what was written. "The address of the place should be easy to find. And since we're in Louisiana it's pretty much a straight drive north. Shouldn't take us more than a day if we rush."

"We're not rushing anywhere until I get her checked out, so let's just take it one step at a time." The older Winchester tugged at the hem of his shirt again before wandering over toward the air conditioner. The humming sound of the fan grew louder as Dean all but pressed himself against it. A relieved look took over his face.

"Dude, that's sick." Sam shook his head. "I don't want my cold air getting infected with your nasty B.O."

"Sorry, Sammy. Can't hear you. M'cooling off."

Sam looked at his brother almost incredulously, but then realized that it was no use. Dean wasn't going to move unless he wanted to, and until that time, all the younger one could do was wait and gather more information.

So that was exactly what he did.

Right after throwing one of his shoes at his brother.

. . .

"You have got to be kidding me…"

As they drove deeper into the small—almost desolately small—town, Sam soon understood why his brother was grunting in disbelief. Although they had read that Waskish, Minnesota was a tiny township, the truth of the matter was that it couldn't have been any bigger than a large neighborhood. On top of that, it seemed completely dead. Nobody was anywhere. Not in the streets, not along the roads, or even outside their homes. The entire town felt void of people.

They had come off the interstate not too long ago, heading toward the Big Bog State Recreation Area. Their reason for driving through the city was because they needed gas and a place to set up camp. But where the hell was the gas station in a town like this? Sam wondered, let alone a place to stay? Not only that, but if they managed to find either, would anyone even be there?

"You'd think there'd be a gas station right off the main road into the town," Dean muttered. "If you could even call this place that."

Sam didn't respond verbally. He just gave an agreeing nod. His focus was on the town outside. They were barely driving twenty-five miles an hour, and yet everything seemed to go past in a flash. He almost missed the sight of the service station.

"Dean, stop!"

The car gave a sudden jerk as Dean pushed on the brake.

"The gas station's just over there."

When they pulled up to the single-stand station, both Dean and Sam looked around them. Finally, the first person they had seen since entering the town emerged from the little shack just a few yards from the service stand. He was a middle-aged man with a large, protruding belly and a several days-old brown beard. He seemed nice enough.

"Come to fill 'er up?" he asked genially, coming to rest his hand against the upper rim of the driver's side window.

Dean gave him a look, as if sizing him up. Then he nodded, pulling out one of their dozens of credit cards and extending it to the guy to take. "Yeah, if you could. Premium." He flashed one of his patented Dean Winchester grins to his brother. "Only the best for my baby."

"And Taco Bell for you," Sam jeered with a faint smirk.

They sat in silence while waiting for the car to fill up. But as the man came to give Dean his receipt, he asked, "So what brings you boys to our little town? You headin' up to see the Big Bog?"

"Actually, yeah," Sam said, smiling. "We wanted to check it out. You don't happen to know if you can camp out there, do you?"

"Don't think so," the man said. His tone rang with uncertainty. "But there's a bed and breakfast here in town where you can stay. Polly and Brian could probably use the money. Business has been slow ever since those disappearances up there. Best be careful, huh?"

The mentioning of the disappearances made Sam wonder why there weren't more police around the area, or reporters. This was the closest town to the site, so surely it would have made sense to have them in the vicinity. From what Sam could see, however, they were the only ones driving around. This was eerie. It had been some time since he and Dean had come across a town so…remote.

To his surprise, his brother asked, "So where's this B&B?"

It seemed to surprise the man as well. "Oh! Well, you just keep goin' down this road here, then take a left at the four-way stop down the way. It's the only one over the next few blocks, so you can't miss it. They've got a sign posted on their lawn outside that says 'bed and breakfast'."

Sam and Dean shared a look before turning to thank the man for the help. Dean kicked the ignition into gear and they were back driving on the road.

"How far is the park from here again?"

"Dunno," Sam said. "Shouldn't be bad, though. We should take a break, since we drove all morning."

A glance at his watch told Sam that it was a quarter past four in the afternoon. They had stopped back in Iowa around Mason City to rest for the night on their trip through, and had left there somewhere around eight that morning. Sam's butt was killing him, and his legs felt cramped up. Dean had insisted on only making one pit stop the entire way through.

They eventually pulled into the driveway of the bed and breakfast. It had a quaint look about it, much like a country farmhouse did. The main building itself was on the bottom right-hand side of the property, near which a large wheat field extended, both to the left and behind it. A large cedar tree spread out over the property and partially over the garage of the inn. Combined with the well-trimmed lawn and the variety of pretty flowers that lined the front of the wooden porch, Sam felt oddly comfortable with the environment. Like he belonged here.

When he got out of the car he stretched his legs, his arms and even his back. Every bone in his body gave some sort of cracking noise as they shifted back into their proper place. Sam grunted. The heat was surprisingly bearable. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought it was somewhere in the upper 70s. And the humidity level was so much more bearable than back down in Louisiana. It was a very welcome change.

"Let's go," Dean said, tugging out their travel bag full of their necessary items from the trunk. He lugged it along with them as they stepped along the cobblestone pathway leading up to the porch. The front door was adorned with a large piece of ornately decorated glass, shaped like an oval. A thick brass band surrounded the glass.

The inside of the bed and breakfast had that same quaint feeling to it that put Sam instantly more at ease. One could tell it had been redecorated so there was a larger entryway, and directly across from the front door was a counter made out of cherry wood. Most of the wooden furniture in the house seemed to be made from cherry wood, Sam surmised.

Dean rang the little silver bell on the countertop. A few moments later, a somewhat thin woman with shoulder-length, silvery blond hair approached them. She had a kind smile on her face, one that even reached her eyes, which sat behind thin-framed black glasses.

"Good afternoon, boys, how can I help you?"

"We'd like to rent one of your rooms," Sam explained. "The guy at the gas station, he said that you ran a pretty good bed and breakfast. You must be Polly."

"That I am," Polly said cheerfully. She moved closer to them, still behind the counter. She began to fidget with a leather-bound book in front of her. "I can always count on John to send business our way. It's been kinda slow, lately, which is surprising, since we usually have at least a few guests during the summer. Right now, there's only one other couple here."

"Oh, we're not a couple," Sam said.

"Nonsense." Dean, having put the bag on the floor, moved in close to Sam then and ruffled up his long hair. He grinned cheekily. "My little Sammy sure does love telling jokes."

Like Sam, Polly looked and obviously felt mildly uncomfortable. But she said nothing of it, and instead chuckled. "Well, there're three rooms available: two on the second floor, and one on the main floor. Would you like to check them out, see if any suit you best?"

"No, no." Dean shook his head. "It's okay. Just put us in whichever room will give us a good look over the fields out back. Those are gorgeous."

"All right." Polly smiled, then scribbled something in her book and looked up at Dean. "We charge by the night, so if you happen to have your card on you…"

While his brother fidgeted for his card, Sam took the time to glance around the inn with more scrutiny than before. To the right of the counter along nearly the entirety of the wall was a large staircase. To the left, Sam could see through an archway that led to what looked like a sitting area, complete with comfortable armchairs and sofas, as well as a fireplace and a many gallon fish tank. Through another archway in that room leading further back into the house must have been the dining room, because he saw a long table surrounded by chairs, and above which hung a somewhat decorative chandelier.

They really took pride in their place, Sam thought.

"You ready, honey?"

Dean's voice caught his attention. He refrained from shooting his brother a dirty look. Why he was pretending they were a couple, Sam didn't know. Of all the things to choose, why that? He would ask later.

"Yeah."

"Enjoy your stay. Dinner is at seven tonight and goes until nine," Polly told them.

Sam followed Dean up the stairs, trying not to mess up the long rug that ran down the length of them. They reached the landing and headed left, down a somewhat narrow hallway complete with photographs and light fixtures hanging on the wall. Dean guided them to a room at the end of the hallway, slipping the key in and stepping inside.

The room had the same feel as the rest of the house. It wasn't very large, around thirteen by thirteen feet, with a queen-size positioned against the middle of the right wall. Across from the bed was a dresser also made from cherry wood, atop which sat a small, fifteen-inch television set. There were portraits on the walls of the surrounding area outside. Along the wall across from the door entry was a sliding glass door that led to an outside patio. The curtains were tugged to the side so that the sunlight could pour in. Thankfully, the sliding glass door faced the east. Directly above them was the sun, which wouldn't blind them.

The younger hunter headed toward the bed and took a seat. It shifted and squeaked thanks to his weight.

"You wanna tell me why we're a couple now?" Sam asked dryly.

"We gotta have some kind of cover, don't we?" Dean placed their bag beside the dresser, then sifted through it as if to look for something. He resurfaced a few seconds later with nothing in his hands. "Better safe than sorry."

"But a _couple_?"

Dean sounded agitated. "Sorry, Sam, it was the best I could come up with, all right?"

Sam let it drop. It wasn't like they had to kiss, or hold hands, or anything. There were couples that didn't do that in public. Besides, they wouldn't be staying long. Only as long as it took to figure out what was going on with the disappearances. There wasn't any need to even show they _were_ a 'couple'.

"We should get some sleep now so we're prepared to deal with this thing tonight."

"Not a bad idea, Dean. But I'm not sharing a bed with you."

"Consider it payback for telling me I've got B.O. and for dragging me all the way out here," Dean said, looking sadistically pleased with himself. He moved close to the bed, dropping himself onto it. He stared up at his brother.

Sam groaned.

. . .

The sound of crickets chirping outside filled the small, cozy room. Sam had opened the sliding glass door slightly before they went to sleep so that a breeze could travel in and out. The room, although comfortable enough, didn't have air conditioning, and he didn't want it to get stuffy. He was sleeping peacefully when the sudden feeling of an arm coming in contact with his stomach knocked him right out of it. His eyes shot open and he looked down at his midsection. Dean's arm was draped across it, and his hand was balled into a fist.

"No…no, not…just…please…"

Dean quickly tugged his arm back as he rolled over onto his side, away from Sam. The younger one, now more awake, sat up and stared down at his brother. Dean's muscles were tense beneath his shirt, and he was curled up in a near fetal position. Whatever he was experiencing, it was getting to him badly. Was this another one of his nightmares? Sam wondered.

The older Winchester's voice became stiffer, and he grunted. "No more…no _more_…"

Sam furrowed his brow. Waking Dean up from his nightmare seemed like the smartest choice, but he remembered reading that doing so could cause severe repercussions. His brother was normal again for the most part, and he didn't want to set him back. He didn't want to make him have to go through everything again. But he sat there, watching the other twist, turn and groan, sounding like he was being tortured.

"I—I—I don't want that, no! I don't want that in me again, no! _NO!_"

Dean's sudden shouts clouded Sam's mind. His worry was getting the best of him. The other was nearly thrashing now, and he rolled over onto his back. Sam finally saw his face. His eyes were clenched shut, as was his mouth. His entire expression was contorted with pain.

"Dean," Sam called out, softly at first. When his brother didn't respond, he said it louder. "_Dean_."

"No! No, no, no! NO!"

"_Dean!_"

Despite his better judgment Sam reached out then and began to gently shake him. It seemed to agitate the older one, but after a minute his eyes shot open and he looked at Sam almost angrily. Before Sam knew what was happening Dean was growling and coming at him. He pinned him down against the bed with surprising strength. Though dazed and confused, Sam could feel the strong, rough hands around the base of his neck. They cut off the air supply to his lungs. His brother hovered over him.

"Dean," Sam choked out. "Dean…it's Sam." He tried to grip hold of his brother's wrists to pull him off, but his strength leaked from him like blood from an open gash.

"You fucking demon," Dean spat. He tightened his grip.

Sam coughed. The look in his brother's eyes was manic—completely insane. He tried saying Dean's name again but it came out like a puff of stiff air. He slowly blinked his eyes. He had to convince him of who it was. He had to, somehow.

Suddenly he felt the grip loosening around his neck. Soon air was filling his lungs—warm, fabulous air. Sam coughed violently for a few moments and clutched his throat gently, during which time Dean moved off of him and returned to his side of the bed.

"Sammy, I'm sorry," he began muttering like a chastised child. "God, Sammy…I'm sorry…"

It scared Sam when his brother got like this. Every nightmare reduced Dean to a sobbing mess. He had no right to get mad over it, but sometimes he wanted to. Sometimes, he wanted to tell his brother to toughen up and move on.

And that was when Sam got mad at _himself_. That was their dad talking, not him. Whether he liked it or not, parts of John lay inside him. And those parts sometimes made him think and say stupid things.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam murmured somewhat hoarsely. But really, it wasn't. It wasn't okay.

The two sat in silence for a while. Dean eventually looked back over at Sam, the fear fading from his eyes and the hardened expression he usually wore returned. He swallowed a little roughly and rubbed at right eye.

"What time is it?"

Sam grabbed his phone from the nightstand to check. "It's…five till eleven."

"Good. Come on, let's get going."

Having slept in their regular clothes, Sam and Dean didn't have to do much to get ready to leave in terms of dressing. But they had to snag a few things from the bag they had brought up with them—things that would help them in their travels into the bogs. If they truly were going up against a Will-o'-the-wisp, then they needed to be prepared for it. Lore dictated that they would have to split up, given the creature's affinity to picking on one person at a time. Thus, they would take along walkie-talkies. They both needed a blade, partially for protection and partially because it would ultimately be what put the Will-o'-the-wisp asunder.

Once they were all packed up, Dean and Sam carefully and quietly slipped out of the bed and breakfast and into the impala. Although its engine rumbled somewhat loudly, Dean refrained from roaring it like he usually did, so as to not wake up everyone in the building. Soon they were on the road again, heading toward the bog.

Neither one mentioned what happened back in the room, but it plagued Sam's mind. Dean had looked so _angry_, so upset…but worst of all, so manic. Like he wasn't himself at all. And the way he grabbed at Sam, choking him so furiously. That was the worst the younger hunter had ever seen his brother. There was no doubt that Dean was thinking about it, too. Sam could see it in the way the other tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and in the way that his leg shook nervously.

That hadn't been Dean at all. Or at least, not the Dean that Sam knew.

The trip to the bogs took longer than either expected. When they arrived, Dean parked on the outskirts and locked up the impala, pocketing his keys. He looked at Sam.

"All right. We've got our walkie-talkies, blades, flashlights, phones…think we're good to go?"

Sam patted himself down. "I think we're good, yeah. So…I take the north side, you take the south side? Got your compass?"

"Right here." Dean pulled out his compass, moving around until he was facing south. He turned his head Sam. "Okay. Ready to go. You see _anything_, you give me a buzz."

"Likewise."

"Let's get going."


	15. In The Bog

**Author's Notes: **Here's chapter fifteen! I didn't realize it had been a week since I last updated. Oops. I'm trying to update with some kind of schedule, but, well, I guess I forgot. School's been busy and it's thrown me off! Anyway, here it is. Enjoy! And please don't forget to leave a review.

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Sam felt lost amidst all of the cedars, birches and pines of the bog area. Despite his somewhat above average eyesight in the night, he could barely see but a couple of yards in front of him. Everywhere he tried to step, some kind of shrubbery blocked his way. Flowers, bushes, saplings…he began to wonder if this was a good idea.

Granted, despite all of this, he had managed to keep the lake in his sights. He barely ventured deeper into the bogs for fear that he would actually get completely lost. It was one thing to feel that way, but it was another to actually _be_ lost.

As he stepped over a muddy patch, Sam clicked the walkie-talkie and said, "Dean. Come in, Dean. You there?"

A scratchy transmission occurred before Dean spoke. "Sam? Something up?"

"No, I was just checking to see if you had found anything. I've got nothing."

"Me, too, so far. But I'm moving deeper into the bog. God, my boots are fucking soaked…"

Sam tried to keep from laughing. He failed, but he at least managed to stifle it. Dean loved his boots, too, just like his car. This must have been killing him, walking around in a dirty, muddy and wet area. His brother's whining tone had given it away. "It's nearly one, Dean. We've been looking for a while. Think we should call it a night and come back tomorrow?"

"No." Dean coughed over the airwaves. "Let's give it a while longer. It might just be hiding. We'll get it."

"Okay. Over and out."

Sam put the walkie-talkie back into his jacket's breast pocket, looking carefully around him. There were multitudes of flowers, of plants…the view had to be amazing during the day. He had always loved nature. It was too bad that he had to see such an amazing place at night, when his vision wasn't as sharp.

There was, of course, one other way he could locate the creature if he wanted to. Sam knew that he could probably find it if he just closed his eyes and gave in to the powers within him. But he hadn't since having used them in the bar that night all that time ago. It wasn't for lack of wanting to. No, rather, it was from a lack of needing to. And that still bothered him a bit.

Would it be worth it to try it? he wondered. Or was it best to just let his hunting instincts take this one over? Both methods sounded decent.

In the end he settled for doing it the old fashioned way. Sam stomped through the bog, his booted feet squishing deep into the muddy ground. Where the hell was this thing? He was starting to get tired. He trudged on, however, going further, going deeper, until he could barely see the lake off in the distance anymore. He had gone against his judgment, but necessity dictated it.

Sam stared around him. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No glowing light. No weird feeling. No nothing.

Unsurprisingly, as he thought this, he heard the buzz of the walkie-talkie, soon followed by his brother's voice. "Let's call it a night, Sam. I can't find a thing. This damn creature's taking a break or something."

"Ten-four, good buddy," Sam said. He smiled. That amused him.

A pause.

Then, "Don't _ever_ say that again, Sam."

. . .

"All right. We're gonna try this one more time. That damn creature better be out there, if it knows what's good for it."

Sam watched Dean almost prowl back and forth in their bedroom. He had his hands behind his back and his gaze focused sharply. The younger hunter hadn't seen his brother act like this in a while. It was almost…amusing, but at the same time, kind of scary. There was determination in Dean's eyes, along with something like desperation. It was an odd combination, particularly for the older one.

Getting up, Sam brushed his hands down his front. "We've got everything packed up in the car still. Let's get going."

After the lack of finding anything the night before, both Sam and Dean were going into this round with slight irritation. There was no way they had covered the entire park in that one night, and as such, it was possible that they had completely missed the Will-o-the-wisp's location. They would be going back again tonight to make sure that they found it and did it in once and for all. They had to prevent another disappearance—and possible death—from happening.

Both brothers headed down to the car just past eleven that night. The drive to the bog was quicker this time, and upon their arrival, they decided to part ways again. But this time around, they flipped positions. Now, Dean was taking the north side, and Sam, the south. This way, they could find more. Perhaps even things that the other missed.

"Walkie-talkie me if you find anything," Dean said before they split up.

"Count on it," Sam agreed.

The moon shone brightly above him, lighting the younger hunter's way through the beginning patches of bog. But the deeper he immersed himself the less and less he was able to use the moonlight as a means of guidance. The cedar and spruce trees that surrounded him had formed a slight canopy up above, blocking out the light. He began using his flashlight as a means of lighting his way.

Sam traveled through the bog for what felt like ever. But, it was no avail. There was no mysterious, eerie looking light in the distance. There was no sense of being ill at ease. All he felt was a difficulty in breathing, due to the thick, moist air of the bog. He lifted an arm up and tried breathing with his shirtsleeve covering his mouth. It worked, if just a little.

He glanced around him with care. Everywhere he shone his light had the potential to scare off the Will-o'-the-wisp, but even when he turned it off and waited for a few minutes, he found nothing. All he heard was the rustling of the animals in the trees and around him on the ground.

He pulled out his walkie-talkie and held it to his mouth. "Dean, I haven't found anything."

The return transmission came through garbled at first. "Sam—, here—_bright_—"

"Dean? I can't understand you."

A pause. Then, "Sorry, Sam. The trees might have caused some interference. I think it's here." He said, quieter this time, "There's a light just a ways in front of me. It's moving."

"All right, Dean, just stay there. Wait for me to come over there and I'll spot you so it can't cast its spell on you." When Dean gave him no response, Sam pressed it. "Dean."

"Yeah, yeah. All right. I'm not far from where we split up."

"See you soon."

"Over and out."

Turning around, Sam took a moment to backtrack mentally before actually retracing his steps. The wet, muddy ground beneath him squished and spurted as he walked over his trail. Thankfully, he hadn't taken too many turns, so it didn't take him long to find where he had initially entered the tree-covered area. When he emerged from it the moonlight washed over him, giving him an eerily pale glow.

Sam paused. Which way had he come from again?

Once he realized that he had pretty much run a straight line, the younger hunter picked up his backwards travel, heading toward where he and Dean had split up. It took him a few minutes to get there, but when he did, he started following his brother's footsteps as best he could.

But then he heard something garbled over the radio transmission.

"Holy shit…is that what I think it is…?"

Sam quickly grabbed hold of his walkie-talkie. "Dean! What's going on?"

No response. Dean murmured almost dreamily, "Man…all that…and nobody's found it…really…?"

"_Dean_!" Sam shouted.

Still no response.

Worried now, Sam picked up his pace, keeping his flashlight pointed downward to highlight his brother's path. He followed the thick, boot-shaped footprints, but the further he traveled, the more they seemed to lighten. Dean must have taken some of the weight off of his legs so as to keep quiet.

But that didn't explain why they suddenly stopped. Sam stopped too, looking around to make sure that he hadn't mistaken the direction somewhere behind him. But he hadn't. Dean's footprints just…disappeared.

Where the hell had they gone?

Sam willed himself to calm down. Dean was around here somewhere, he had to be. He closed his eyes and focused on what he could hear. Like before, he could hear the animals rustling around in the trees. He could hear the light breeze blowing through them. And then, something caught his attention. Something that sounded like water. He opened his eyes. Where had it come from?

He looked in front of him, to his left, to his right.

_There_.

Sam turned right and began jogging over the muddy ground, through the large collection of brush and shrubbery. He used his arms as a means of parting the shrubs' branches, but some still scratched his cheeks and his neck. His foot caught on a root, and he stumbled through the last of them, regaining his balance before nearly falling right onto the shore of the lake.

When he lifted his gaze, he saw his brother submerged in the water about ankle-deep. And in just a couple feet in front of him, there was an eerily glowing sphere of light. It hurt Sam's eyes, so bright as it was.

"Dean!" he called out to his brother. It was no use, however. Dean was caught under the Will-o'-the-wisp's spell. And if that walkie-talkie hit the water…his brother was gonna be electrocuted before he drowned because of the creature.

Sam fumbled with his own walkie-talkie, which he threw onto the ground beside him after fishing it from his pocket. He rolled up his sleeves, then worked quickly on undoing his boots. By the time he finished Dean was almost waist-deep in the water.

"Dean!"

He didn't even think as he rushed toward the water. It was thick and surprisingly cold against his feet, even with the warm, humid air around them. His socks and his lower pant legs were immediately drenched, but that didn't weigh him down. He dredged though the water toward his brother, using his physical core strength to keep him from falling under the surface.

Sam wondered briefly why he, too, wasn't falling under the control of Will-o'-the-wisp's spell. But all he knew was that he was going to take advantage of it, and was going to save his brother. He closed in on Dean in just under a minute—and when he did, he reached out, grabbing hold of Dean's shoulders to prevent him from moving any further.

"All that gold…_God_…"

Dean's voice sounded like that of a drone. And, not surprisingly, he attempted to break free of Sam's hold. But Sam kept it strong.

"Dean, snap out of it! You're gonna electrocute yourself!"

Wrapping one arm around Dean's waist, which submerged one of his arms underwater, Sam used his other to fish the walkie-talkie from his pocket. With the older one struggling against him, it proved difficult to smack the walkie-talkie against his own chest in order to pop the back off. After each smack Sam looked forward, seeing the Will-o'-the-wisp in the distance. It was keeping away, which was a smart move on its part.

By now Sam was beginning to shiver. The cold water had gotten to him and was cooling his body temperature. He smacked the walkie-talkie once more against his shoulder, but it wasn't working. He couldn't get the back off. So, feeling stupidly brave and unsure, Sam prepared to toss it like a baseball. When he did, he gave it all the force he could, and the walkie-talkie went flying through the air, landing in the water a long ways away with a loud _splash_.

Dean still struggled against him, but angrier now. Sam had unintentionally loosened his grip, and because of it, his brother broke free. He continued to walk forward, following the Will-o'-the-wisp further toward the center of the lake.

"Damn it, Dean, no!" Sam nearly growled.

He needed to kill the creature. But if he was going to do it the right way, he needed to take the knife and put it blade up in the dirt on the shore. By the time he did that, however, Dean would drown. He was already halfway in the lake. There just wasn't enough time for it.

Sam turned to look at the Will-o'-the-wisp. He wanted it gone…wanted it to die. But how? It had no neck to choke, no organs to crush. It was a spirit. It would take more than that. And all of the materials he had for killing a spirit were too far away.

He needed to listen to his instincts on this one. He closed his eyes. Suddenly, his arm lifted in the air. His hand extended, palm facing outward, and from it, Sam felt warmth. Soon the warmth grew to a heat. The heat grew hot. Before he knew what was happening, the heat had become blistering, almost unbearable.

And then it was gone.

Sam opened his eyes. In front of him, he saw the Will-o'-the-wisp's brightly glowing sphere of a body completely enveloped by orange and red flames. A high-pitched, wailing type of scream emitted from it, and it combusted. A brilliant flash of light turned into many little glowing specks, all of which scattered over the water's surface. They soon extinguished.

Dean, who was up to his neck in water now, gave a shake of his head and shuddered. "What the fuck?" he muttered. He began thrashing about. "Sam?!"

"I'm right here, Dean."

The older hunter turned around. His movement had sent waves through the water. "Sam, what the hell am I doing in the water?" He paused. "Did I…?"

"Yeah," Sam said hesitantly. "But you're okay now. I got it. The creature's gone."

Neither said a word after that. They waded through the water back to shore, where they shivered their way back to the impala. Although Dean was hesitant to let them inside, wet as they were, he had no choice. He muttered about it nearly the entire ride back to the bed and breakfast. By the end of it, Sam wanted to claw his eyes out.

"We'll buy new upholstery or something if it's that big of a deal," he grumbled irritably.

But Dean was having none of that. "Right now, all I care about is getting out of these wet clothes and into a nice, comfortable bed. You _better_ not hog all the damn pillows, tonight, Sam. 'Cause if you do, I'm gonna—"

"You're gonna what?"

Dean pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows in such a way that said, "You don't want to find out". And, tired as he was, Sam didn't argue. No, he didn't want to find out. But he probably was going to anyways.

. . .

It was mid-morning the following day when Sam woke up. His face was half-buried against one of the extra-firm pillows, and moistness dribbled down the side of his mouth. He must have drooled a little in his sleep. He groaned, lifting a hand to his face and rubbing at his eye. When everything came into better focus, he realized that Dean wasn't lying there beside him.

He sat up slowly, looking around him. His brother wasn't anywhere in the room. That was when his hearing kicked in better, and the sound of the running shower caught his attention.

What time was it?

Sam fumbled sleepily with his phone. It was eleven-thirty. God, had he really slept that long?

The sun shone brightly in the sky, making the curtain that hung over the sliding glass door nearly see-through. The room was warm, but thankfully not too much so. He lowered himself back to the bed and rubbed his eyes again. The bed smelled more like Dean than it did him. For some reason, it was oddly comforting.

He lay there in silence for a few minutes, barely remaining awake. It wasn't until the water shut off in the bathroom that he sat up again. Sam scratched at his chest. A few moments later Dean emerged from the bathroom, steam billowing out behind his towel-clad form. The scars from the hellhound's claws had healed over nicely, but red marks still littered his brother's chest. They were, however, less noticeable because of the flushed color of Dean's skin.

Dean headed over to the bag of clothes. "Rise and shine, Sammy," he said, rummaging for some fresh pants and a shirt.

Sam ended up getting out of the bed and heading into the bathroom shortly after Dean exited it. After relieving himself he took a quick shower, just to wake up. He had already taken one last night to get rid of the nasty bog water. Several minutes later he, too, then emerged from the bathroom, heading toward the clothing bag.

As he dressed, he cast brief glances over at Dean, who was sitting on the bed and fidgeting with his pocketknife. He appeared deep in thought. Sam figured he had an idea of what it had to do with. But before he could say anything, his brother announced it for him.

"I failed. _Again_."

Already Sam could feel the need to soften the situation rising within him. He buttoned up his over shirt. "Dean, I—"

"Seriously, Sam, what's wrong with me?"

The look Dean gave him then struck Sam right in the heart. His eyes weren't wet, but it was obvious that they should have been. He was clearly fighting the urge. Dean's lips were pursed tightly and he furrowed his brow. Creases appeared in his forehead.

"First I can't fight some demons in a bar, and then I freak out on you while I'm sleeping, and now this. What's next? Am I gonna get my ass handed to me on a silver platter by some stupid poltergeist? Some demon? I keep having these horrible dreams about Hell, and they make me just…manic, and—" Dean sighed. "Fuck, Sam. It's all a little too much, sometimes."

Sam didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth, but then quickly closed it. Finally he managed to get out: "It probably caught you off guard, Dean. The Will-o'-the-wisp, I mean. They're sneaky creatures. And we knew there was danger involved for one of us."

"Yeah, but I should have been able to fight it. I could've before."

Dean looked away. Sam knew what he meant by 'before'—before he had gone to Hell. Before he had been subjected to torture worse than even the most twisted mind could imagine. Sam moved toward the bed and took a seat on it, but Dean continued to keep his gaze away from him.

"Dean," Sam began quietly.

Dean abruptly changed the subject. "We're gonna have to buy a new set of walkie-talkies."

"Yeah. But…that's okay. Better buying new ones than being electrocuted for old ones, right?" Sam sighed. Yet another moment spurned because of Dean not wanting to take it further.

"You're a dumbass." But the way the older Winchester said it was somewhere between amusement and frustration. "That kind of shock wouldn't have killed me. Besides, I don't think it would've been that bad at all."

"Better safe than sorry," Sam said. He tried not to get irritated by his brother's comment.

Finally Dean looked at him. "Yeah, well, maybe a shock would've done be some good, you know? Maybe it could've gotten rid of this damn haze in my head. Whatever's stopping me from being my old self again."

It was hard to disagree when the situation was put like that. Sam, as much as he wanted to convince himself otherwise, knew his brother wasn't—nor would he ever again completely be—normal. Dean may have been able to feign semblance of it, but being down in Hell had certainly changed him. And in some cases, it was obviously for the worse. What was there to do about it, though?

Dean and Sam were quiet for a while. The older one went back to fidgeting with his pocketknife while the younger lifted himself off the bed, collecting their dirty clothes. This was how they stayed for some time.

It was Dean who broke the silence. And, it was of course no surprise that he had changed the subject once more. "We need to hunt down these demons that got out of the Devil's Gate."

Sam didn't fail to notice his choice of words—'got out' versus the truth: 'you let out'. Still, he nodded. "There isn't much we can do until they start leaving signs. And the fact that they aren't is a very, very bad thing."

"No shit," Dean muttered. "I bet Lilith's got them on the lowdown so we can't find them. I really think we need to get Ruby's knife back. She hasn't…you know, come to talk to you lately, has she?"

"No. My guess is she's out there trying to find her knife, herself. And if _she's_ having this much difficulty…" He trailed off. It couldn't mean anything good for them if Ruby couldn't find it.

Dean got up from the bed and folded his arms over his chest. "Well, it looks like we're gonna have to set a trap. Catch ourselves a demon. Interrogation time." Even though there was a smile on his face, Sam knew his brother was scared. He didn't know _how_ he knew. He just did.

"Let's do it somewhere remote, then," Sam suggested. "Somewhere away from all these people. We don't want them getting caught in the crossfire."

Dean snorted. "You kidding, Sam? This place is _perfect_. Well, not this place _exactly_, but you know what I mean. This town. It's like…the damn boonies. _Nobody_ is out here. We just gotta find ourselves a barn or something, and we could have a hay day." He laughed. "Haha. No pun intended."

"Funny." Sam knit his eyebrows in concern. There was clearly something wrong if the demons weren't coming to them…if _they_ had to summon one just to make them show up. It didn't sit well in his stomach, this thought. But it was all they had at the moment. All they could do was hope that whatever demon they got, it wasn't one too powerful to handle.

Something inside of Sam bubbled up then—something like ease, or comfort. He suddenly didn't feel afraid. No, he felt no fear. Maybe a little anxiety, but not fear. Were these his demonic powers talking? How could he tell, anyway?

Whatever it was, and wherever it had come from, Sam tried his best to squish it. Cockiness was the last thing he needed to deal with right now.

"All right. So, in order to summon us a demon, we're gonna have to find a good place to do it. That can be our goal for the day. In a place like this, I bet it's pretty easy to find a barn. Even a shack would do. But we want a place with space so we can keep our distance from them." Dean scratched the tip of his nose. "We're gonna need some candles, too. And some other things. I think we've got them all in the trunk. If not, we'll have to find someplace where we can get them."

As was usual, when Dean began to talk about conjuring, he also began to pace back and forth.

To Sam's surprise, he said out of the blue, "No, I can just summon one with my powers."

It was out of his mouth before he even realized it. And he hadn't even thought it. But that something within him knew exactly what it was capable of. It wanted to express its capabilities.

Dean gave him a funny look. "You wanna just summon some demon all willy-nilly without the right ritual? Ha!" He snorted derisively. "Funny, Sam. Your wonky little powers might help us elsewhere, but here, no. We're gonna do it the way we know how. We don't wanna summon something we can't handle."

"I can handle it," Sam said, somewhat brusquely.

His tone made Dean stop pacing. He stepped closer to his younger brother. "We're gonna do it the normal way, Sam. We need all the control we can get here. I don't trust your powers to—"

But before Dean could continue, Sam blurted out, "Oh, so they're good enough to burn and explode a Will-o'-the-wisp, but they're not good enough to summon a demon?"

The older Winchester stared at him in disbelief. He scoffed. "Fine. You wanna do it your way, Sam, we'll do it _your_ way. We'll do _everything_ your way. Since you know exactly what it is you're doing, and are completely right. I'll just go along for the ride."

Sam suddenly felt awful. Whatever had happened inside of him had hit Dean's weak spot real quick, and he didn't like it at all. His muscles tightened and he felt adrenaline pumping through his system now at top speed. But he willed himself to calm down. With a softer tone, he said, "No, you're right. I'm sorry. I just…I dunno what that was."

"That was the demonic power inside of you, Sam, telling you to do whatever the fuck you want, and to not give a damn about who it hurts in the process." Dean sounded snappy. He looked irritable. "I told you. I'm _still_ not okay with them." He paused. Then, "But there isn't much we can do about those now. Let's focus on summoning a demon so we can get some damn answers."

A swift moment was all it took for Dean to take control of the situation again. Sam realized that his brother felt threatened. Threatened by what was going on inside of him, and by what was going on inside Sam, himself, as well. Added to the stress of having become the Will-o'-the-wisp's mindless drone, it couldn't have done Dean well to hear his brother being insubordinate. And that was where the humanity in Sam took hold. His brother took himself and hunting very seriously. He _was_ good at it. But he was rusty. Hell had weakened him. He needed to feel like he was capable of doing things again. Thus far, he hadn't been.

No wonder Dean felt the way he did. Sam would have, too, he thought to himself.

"I saw some farmlands on our way into town," Sam mentioned. "We could go back the way we came and see if we can't find an empty barn in those."

"Good idea. Let's get some breakfast and we'll go for it." Dean's voice was calm, if not a little rough, like it always was. He had quickly gone back to normal.

Everything had gone back to normal. Buried just beneath the surface, like always.

Sam watched him as he left the room, following soon behind him.


	16. Fun at the Barn

**Author's Notes:** Oh man, I'm loving season four so far. I watch The Office in the time slot, but I manage to watch Supernatural through other means. How many people loved Monster Movie? I thought it was pretty good. The black and white was a nice touch, too.

Anyway, here is chapter sixteen! I think I'm gonna make it a habit now to just post on Sundays after work. That'll be an easy thing to keep up with. So from now on, expect updates of the story on Sunday. :) Enjoy, as always! And please don't forget to leave me a review with comments, questions, or whatever. They always make me a happy writer.

* * *

It didn't take them long to find a barn. As Sam had said, just on the outskirts on the road they had driven in on lay a large, open field. A huge, classic red barn with white trimming sat off-center in it, surrounded by old farming equipment and machinery. The field—a wheat field, just like the one near the bed and breakfast—was bare. It had recently been harvested.

Although they had found a barn, there was no way to know whether or not it was currently occupied. From the looks of it, whoever used it did so rather frequently. Sam and Dean's investigation of it led both of them to believe that they might have a bit more difficulty in finding an empty barn than they originally thought.

The two of them eventually got back into the impala and drove further around the town. They came across another field, but this time, one full of wildflowers and somewhat tall grass, as well as scattered trees. Deep within the field lay another barn, although it had seen better days. The wood used to make it had begun to rot in some places, and its doors hung crooked and ajar. There wasn't a single piece of farming equipment visible within the radius of it.

"Think this one should do it?" Sam asked.

"Seems okay," Dean responded.

They had to walk a few minutes through the field to make it to the barn. This kind of distance from the road and from anything civilized would be perfect for what they had planned. And not only that, but if anything went down, they had the added benefit of not having to worry about civilian casualties. There was a farmhouse off in the distance, but it looked more like a speck on the horizon than anything else. Not nearly close enough for danger.

Dean cleared his throat. "All right, so we come back here tonight and do the deed. We need to stop by the grocery store or supermarket or whatever it is here and grab some blood and an altar mat."

"We're not gonna use Spongebob again, are we?"

The look Dean gave him did nothing to settle Sam's slight worry. But, all he could do was hope that there would be something decent in the way of placemats at the supermarket. If not, Spongebob it would likely be.

It was late afternoon by the time the two of them got back to the bed and breakfast with all the required materials. They had found a Dairy Queen deep within the heart of the town, and, starved for fast food as they were, they had stayed there for some hot eats and cool treats. They sat out the rest of the sunlight in their bedroom, watching some television. By the time night had fallen and the moon had begun to rise, they were more than happy to get out of there.

"Remind me to never watch local access television again," Dean muttered, eyes focused on the road ahead of him.

"Seriously."

That had been a real experience. And one that Sam did not want to relive any time soon.

Dean drove them right back to the barn from earlier that afternoon. The moonlight washed over the field, giving it an ethereal sort of glow. As the brothers walked through it, Sam took a slower pace. He wanted to enjoy the beauty. Above, the stars twinkled brightly in the sky. This was definitely the kind of view you only got from being out in the middle of nowhere, with no air pollution to cover it up. And with so few clouds in the sky, it was even more beautiful.

"Sam!" Dean's voice shook him from his temporary reverie. "Come on. Stop getting all hippy nature lover on me and let's get this thing done."

The younger hunter hurried his pace to catch up with his brother. Soon the two of them were standing just in front of the large, broken doors of the barn.

"See if you can't close those while I get everything set up inside," Dean ordered.

When at first Sam tried to move the door, he found that it was more or less stuck in a crevice in the ground. He lifted it after a few moments of careful fidgeting, and finally managed to make it budge. It took a bit of work, but the door began to shut, a horrifically loud creaking noise following. It only stopped once the door had completely closed.

Sam surveyed the field to make sure that nobody was coming. Nothing was even out there, not even a single animal. That was a little unnerving. But, he shoved that to the back of his mind and proceeded to shut the second door. For the sake of safety he left it open just enough so that they could escape if necessary.

But something in the back of his head told him that they wouldn't need to worry about that.

Sam stood silently while watching Dean draw a large devil's trap on the ground. Hay was strewn about the floor. From both the look and the smell of the place, the younger hunter surmised that it hadn't been used in quite some time. Stalls lined the left side of the barn, all about the height for a horse. Sam wondered what other animals might have lived here.

That thought soon disappeared from his head. Dean was clapping his hands together and coughing. "God, you'd think in a place this big, the aerosol would spread out. But that's some stinky-ass crap."

"I'll set up the altar," Sam said.

Dean proceeded to mark other devil's traps around the barn. Sam figured it was just in case they summoned more than one demon. If not that, then so they had options of where to chase the demon when it arrived. Thankfully, enough hay was on the ground that they could hide them, for the most part. It was the moonlight pouring in from above that would give them away—them and the bright, silvery color of the spray paint Dean had used.

By the time Sam had set everything up, Dean had spray-painted three more devil's traps around the barn. Their defenses were sure to be strong, although Sam still had that nagging feeling in the back of his head that they didn't have to worry about anything. Was Dean right? Was this weird feeling, this voice inside of him…was it his demonic powers talking?

"All right, Sammy, let's do this."

Dean wasted no time in performing the ritual. He followed it word for word, motion by motion. At first nothing happened. But the further into it he went, the more raucous the barn became. It started out with a sudden wind outside that rattled the shingles on the roof. Then, the very walls of the barn began to shake, as if there were something huge outside jerking it around. As Dean continued, the wind outside picked up, pouring into the barn and blowing around the hay that hid their traps.

"Dean, hurry! It's blowing over the hay!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean hastily finished the ritual, at which point the very light from the moon above disappeared. It was brief, however. Soon the eerie silver glow bathed over them once again. And they were not alone.

"This had better be good."

The deep voice belonged to a large man—larger than Sam, even—with dark skin and even darker eyes. He had appeared by the front doors of the barn. Dean and Sam turned to face him.

He smirked. "Ah, Dean, nice to see you again. How was Hell?"

The casual tone with which the demon spoke touched Sam in all the wrong ways. A frown instantly settled onto his face, almost a sneer. But he said nothing. Instead, Dean stepped forward and said:

"_Hell_acious, as always. But I'm sure you know. You've been there."

"Not in a long time," the demon said. He gave a low chuckle. "And I don't plan on going there any time soon. Anyway. Let's get to business. What do you want?"

"Oh, you know, same old, same old," Dean said. "Just thought since you demons don't wanna come to us on your own, we'll _make_ you do it."

"So you're gonna single-handedly summon every demon in the United States? Ha! That's rich. Good luck, you idiot. You think that's gonna happen?"

"No, no, no. Not _every_ demon. Just a few. You know, to catch everyone's attention."

"You already _caught_ everyone's attention when your brother, here, sent nearly a dozen demons to Hell without even so much as a scratch on himself." The dark skinned man turned his head to Sam to stare at him. Sam could feel the hate behind the look. "Oh, yes, don't think we don't know about that, little Sammy."

To Sam's surprise, it was Dean who said quickly, "His name is _Sam_, you got it?"

The demon snorted. "Whatever. But I don't know what you think you're gonna accomplish, here. I've got work to do."

"I'm sure you do." Dean approached the demon. Just beneath the hay a few feet in front of him was a devil's trap, and Sam knew his brother was trying to instigate a fight so the demon would fall into it. "But we've got work to do, too. So you'll have to excuse us if we don't just let you skedaddle on out of here."

Everyone suddenly quieted down. Tension built in the room at an alarming rate. Sam knew that this particular demon would kick his brother's ass—and probably even his own—based on the sheer size of him. He had at least two inches on Sam, and maybe even thirty or forty pounds. Added to his supernatural powers…

But then he struck. Before Sam could even react, the demon was shooting forward toward Dean. His brother jumped back just in time, and the demon, now snared in the trap, hit what looked like an invisible wall as he collided with the border of it. His eyes went black and he growled angrily.

"Dumbass," Dean said, clearly amused.

"Let me out of here," the demon ordered.

"Ah, ah, ah…play nice, or we'll fry your guts."

Dean moved closer to Sam then. He clasped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You're up, Sammy. I'm gonna grab the holy water."

When Dean moved past him, Sam stepped forward. The demon flinched just slightly; the look on his face read somewhere between disgust and a morbid sense of curiosity.

"So why _haven't _you guys been coming after us?" Sam asked.

"That's a good question. You know, I just don't know. Sometimes, there's more to the world than Dean and Sam Winchester." The demon suddenly clutched his throat, pretending to choke. But then he snorted. "You two and your egos. It's amazing anyone can be in the same room with you without suffocating."

Sam ignored his comment. "There's a reason. Lilith was on my trail just a few months ago, wanting my guts on a stick. And now I'm supposed to believe that, all of the sudden, she doesn't care anymore? Yeah, right."

"Then summon Lilith," the demon grunted. He shrugged his shoulders. "Or are you too chicken, Sam? Even with all those little powers you've got growing inside of you?"

Sam knew that he could punch him. They were certainly close enough. And the idea was very, very appealing. But he set his jaw, and let out a terse sigh. "Listen. I don't have time for games. There's something going on, and we need to figure out what it is. And you're gonna tell us."

As if on cue, from over Sam's shoulder came a stream of holy water. Dean stepped up beside him and the two watched the demon's sudden pained reaction. Smoke rose from his face and neck. A few moments later, the demon shook his head.

He stood firm. "I'm not saying anything."

Another splash of holy water followed, and the demon cried out once more. It sounded almost like a roar this time around. He stepped back.

"Fine, fine," he muttered. "Put that crap away before you hurt yourselves."

"You mean, hurt you," Dean corrected. But he did as the demon asked, spinning the top onto the flask and sticking it into his pocket.

"So why aren't demons coming after us?" Sam pressed.

"I think, Sam, the question shouldn't be so much _why_ we aren't as it should be _who_ is stopping us," the demon said evasively.

Dean and Sam shared a look.

"So someone's stopping demons from attacking," Sam said. The demon nodded. An idea popped into the younger one's head. Why hadn't he thought of it before? "It's Lilith, isn't it? She's stopping you."

"Ding, ding."

"Well, _now_ I'm gonna ask why."

"You're not gonna get the answer from me," the demon said firmly. "I'll go to Hell and back again before I answer that."

"You're gonna go to Hell either way," Dean snapped. "So either you tell us and she sends you to Hell, or you don't tell us and _we_ send you to Hell. Who are you more afraid of?" It was obvious that Dean had expected the demon to say them, but when he stayed silent, it made the older Winchester snort. "Oh man, are you _serious_?"

"You don't know what Lilith is capable of," the demon said, sounding fearful for the first time. "Compared to her, what you do is child's play."

"I can make it worse," Sam said darkly. A sudden flash in his eyes caught the demon's attention.

"You're still a newbie," he said. "Nothing you can do, even _with_ your piddly powers, would be worse than what Lilith could do. And _nothing_ you say can change that."

Dean splashed the demon again with more holy water, but aimed specifically for his eyes this time. It made him shout, and smoke sizzled up and out of his sockets, which he clutched in his large, meaty hands.

"Why is Lilith keeping the demons at bay?" Sam asked insistently.

The demon, now panting, let out a frustrated growl. "Think about it, idiot. Why would she? What would she stand to gain with _more_ demons?"

Dean shot more holy water at the demon, who cried out and stumbled back. He obviously hadn't liked the way he spoke to Sam. The younger Winchester's face fell pensive. Why _would_ she hold demons back? What good would that do?

Then it hit him. He remembered what Yellow-Eyes had said about an upcoming demon army. He remembered that it was going to be the apocalypse, and he was supposed to lead it. But when he had denied his supposed destiny, the newcomer Lilith had taken it over.

She was building an army to help her bring the apocalypse on Earth.

Sam's face suddenly grew fearful. Just before Dean splashed the demon again, he stuck a hand out. "Dean, stop."

"Why?"

"Lilith's…building herself an army for the apocalypse."

Dean snorted. And Sam knew exactly what that meant: he didn't believe him. "What? You mean little Miss Superpowers can't bring it on, herself? She needs help?"

"Lilith is powerful, but I don't think she can do everything alone."

The demon stirred in the devil's trap. Sam saw Dean jerk, and again he forbade him from splashing him with water. Dean stiffened.

"If you were smart," the demon began, revealing his face from behind his hands, "you'd be doing the same. Because she still wants your…how did you describe it? Oh, yes. Your guts on a stick. And you're no match for her."

"Why do you care what he does?" Dean snapped.

"I don't. I'm just saying. She'll come for you before she brings the apocalypse, Sam. And she's gonna kick your ass."

Sam didn't know what possessed him at that moment, but he felt a surge of anger like nothing he had ever felt before. Narrowing his gaze, he stuck his arm out, palm flat and extended toward the demon. Before he knew it his eyes closed, and he used his powers within. But this time, instead of choking to death like the other demons, this one began to sputter as thick, grey-black smoke exuded from his mouth, eyes and ears. The large body fell to its feet as the smoke continued to pour from it.

"Sam," Dean said warily. Then, almost worriedly, "_Sam_."

But Sam didn't stop. He focused harder at his brother's calls, and the demon further expelled from the host's body. The ground around it began to crackle and hiss, almost like an electrical current ran through it.

"Sam!"

In a matter of seconds the demon had completely detached from the host body. It swirled around the man for a moment before it suddenly shot up through the roof, disappearing from view. The body inside the devil's trap collapsed onto the ground.

Sam opened his eyes.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean exclaimed.

"We got all we needed from him," Sam said in a quiet, but firm, tone. He turned to face his brother. Dean couldn't disagree. "We should probably go to dad's lock up and see if there's anything there that can help us."

"How the _hell_ is anything in there gonna stop an army of demons from bringing the apocalypse?"

Sam paused. He didn't have an answer to that. But, it was all they had to go off of for the time being. That was better than nothing. Maybe something inside the lock up could help them to prevent Lilith from bringing the apocalypse. It was a long shot, but it was their best one. He explained all this to Dean, who stared at him almost awkwardly, hesitantly.

But he gave in.

"Fine. Let's go."

It would be a long trip to New York.


	17. Reuniting

**Author's Notes:** This chapter's just a little bit longer than usual...but there's a reason why. I couldn't split it up with the next chapter well in the way that I wanted without the scenes seeming kind of weird. So, if I remember right, chapter eighteen is pretty short. It will likely be the shortest chapter of the story. But, we'll see! At any rate, I hope you all enjoy this chapter just as much as the rest of them. :D Be sure to leave a review letting me know what you think!

* * *

It was hard for Sam to believe that nearly half of July had gone by. Sure, he knew time went on, but he never paid much attention to it. Not now that Dean had been freed. But when he went out that morning to get him and Dean some breakfast from a diner near their hotel, he had checked his phone, and for some reason, the date stuck out like a sore thumb to Sam: it was the thirteenth of July. He didn't really know why it had struck him as so odd; it wasn't as if anything important had happened on the day itself.

Maybe it was just surprising to him that so much time had passed. Or maybe he just couldn't believe that it was actually July. Sometimes it felt like it was May, or maybe even June. Although Sam had an abnormally acute sense of direction and time, when it came to dates and calendars, he was sub-par at best.

Dean had written a laundry list of food to bring back. But, this was good. Sam knew that his brother was feeling better when he wanted to eat a lot. A Dean with light hunger was like a blinding, flashing warning light. And upon their arrival to New York, that was exactly how it had been—the older Winchester ate like some kind of squirrel. But now that they had been here for a few days and had gathered some good equipment and knowledge from their father's lock-up, he was back to normal.

And back to normal meant eating hash browns, eggs, bacon, ham, toast, and especially pancakes. Okay, so maybe the pancakes were for Sam. And some ham, too. But still. Majority of the food on the list was for Dean.

As Sam wandered through the wooden door of the diner, the blinds over its window rattled and the little bell above it rang. He chuckled to himself and muttered affectionately of his brother, "God, what a pig."

He ordered their food and took a seat while he waited for it to be cooked and boxed up. He had eaten here once before—or even twice, he couldn't remember—while he had hovered around the lock-up, trying to power himself up. The food was decent and the customer service was surprisingly friendly for New York. It was a welcome change to some of the other people Sam had dealt with in the city.

Sam waited for some time. He wasn't sure quite how long. But while he did so, he began to hum a tune to himself and gently patted the countertop with his fingertips. His eyes wandered around the diner, stopping once or twice over a few women who caught his eye. Sometimes he felt guilty for staring, which was why he never did it for more than a second or two. And it wasn't like he did it _often_. Today was just…one of those days, he told himself. A day where he noticed them more than usual.

He saw a particularly attractive woman sitting with her friend in a booth not too far away, just beside one of the windows. For a long time Sam stared. The sunlight that poured through the cracked blinds beside them lit up the surface of their aluminum tabletop, as well as the woman's face. She seemed strangely familiar, like he knew her from somewhere. Without realizing it, Sam had furrowed his brow and had also leaned forward slightly, just to get a better look.

She had such beautiful dark hair, Sam thought. And her eyes were absolutely gorgeous. But what captivated him the longest was the smile on her face as she spoke; a smile that soon turned into a quizzical pursing of her lips when she glanced over in his direction, and caught him staring at her. Sam quickly looked away, toward the kitchen. His somewhat pale cheeks flushed pink.

What happened next drained the color right out of them.

"_Sam_?"

"Huh?"

He couldn't help it. It was the first response that came to him. Sam turned toward the voice, having hoped that the woman hadn't thought him creepy for staring. But that voice sounded familiar. Way too familiar. And when it finally dawned on him who he was staring at, whose voice he had just heard, a genuine smile appeared on his face.

"_Sarah_?"

Part of him wanted to reach out and hug her. But Sam quickly reined that part in, because it wasn't proper. They hadn't seen each other in a long time—not since he had left after the whole issue with the killer spirit in the painting. It just didn't seem right to try and pick things up where they had left off. Especially not after all that had happened to him.

Surprisingly enough, Sarah felt differently. She reached forward and embraced Sam in a hug. It was brief, however, and friendly. When she pulled back, she smiled just the same.

"God, I can't believe it's you. What're you doing here?"

"Oh…same old thing," Sam said, somewhat evasively. In a diner, let alone anywhere, word was sure to spread fast if he mentioned that he was trying to prevent an oncoming apocalypse. He gestured to the barstool beside him. She sat, and he continued. "You know."

A knowing look took over Sarah's face. Sure, she knew. She might have forgotten all about it, but that expression on her face—the sudden worry that she hastily masked with indifference—said everything. She glanced over her shoulder, then back to Sam. "Nice. Listen…Sam, I would love to catch up with you. See what's going on with you, and all that. Will you be in town for a while?"

Was Sam hearing right? Was that hope in her voice? It raised his spirits a little. "Actually, yeah. At least another day or two." Dean had expressed a distinct desire for wanting to leave as soon as possible, but Sam felt like they could wait just a little while longer. One day wasn't going to make a notable difference in the course of events. He chuckled. "My number's changed, though…you got your phone?"

Sarah pulled out her phone, and Sam gave her his new number. She hesitated when she stood, almost like she wanted to hug him again, but thought the best of it and decided against it. Sam felt disappointed, but said nothing. Instead he said his goodbyes to her, and just in time—the waitress had just arrived with his bags of food.

Now, though, Sam didn't feel quite so hungry.

. . .

Despite his better judgment, Sam didn't tell Dean about Sarah Blake when he returned to the hotel room. Something told him not to. And whether it was for better or for worse, he decided to listen to that voice.

It had been an awfully long time since he had even thought about Sarah, let alone any of the women he had been romantically interested in. Madison, Jessica…they tempted his thoughts down a depressed, dark road, but he willed himself to think about the positive. However little there was.

Through some clever coaxing, Sam managed later that evening to get Dean out of the hotel room and to a bar for some good, old-fashioned fun. Since the demons weren't coming after them and they were in New York, he figured his brother could use the release. This was, of course, after he had already discussed meeting up with Sarah for dinner at a restaurant. Luckily Dean had wanted to go out early, and Sam, not able to break away, went with him. But after a while Sam feigned a headache and decided he was going to go back and lie down. Since Dean was enjoying himself so heartily, Sam didn't figure his brother would miss him very much.

Back at the hotel room, Sam pulled out some of his better clothes and made sure he looked presentable. Wearing a jacket and jeans was fine for hunting, but he wanted to look nice. He was meeting up with an old friend, after all. He settled on a black, long-sleeved button up and a pair of slacks that he kept folded up in the bottom half of the clothes bag. After fidgeting with his hair for a while, he got his bangs to cover his forehead just right.

And with that, Sam left.

The restaurant where he and Sarah had agreed to meet was just a couple of blocks from their hotel. He enjoyed the walk. It was about nine o'clock, and, despite a rather hot afternoon, the night had cooled off, and now was quite nice. Warm enough to keep from shivering, but refreshing enough to keep from sweating.

Sam knew the kind of food Jessica liked, which was the only reason why he suggested a bar and grill. It was more adult than a chain restaurant, but not quite as fancy as a four-star, which put it right in their range for comfort and price. Plus, they could have a drink, which surprisingly enough, sounded rather good to him. He had been without a drink for a while…not since being at Bobby's. And even then, it had been more to calm his nerves and sedate himself than anything else.

He felt a little anxious about this whole thing, but he reminded himself that it wasn't anything special. He and Sarah simply hadn't seen each other in nearly two years. This was friends catching up and having a nice dinner together. This was normal. Oh, was it normal. And did Sam like that. Maybe that was why he was anxious—he hadn't had a normal situation like this in ages. Though, what was going to come up at dinner wasn't going to be normal at all. How was he supposed to tell her all that he had been through in the last year, year and a half? How he had died, how Dean had died, and how he had resurrected him?

His anxiety grew. Sam swallowed roughly as he stepped down the concrete steps from the sidewalk and through the wrought-iron gate door into the bar and grill. He was a little early, and was surprised when he saw Sarah sitting on one of the benches just beside the host's podium. She was wearing a casual black evening dress tied at the waist by what looked like a fabric belt. Her hair wasn't done up, but it was obvious she had taken some time to make sure it looked good.

Suddenly the anxiety didn't seem quite as heavy anymore, Sam realized.

"Hey," Sarah said. She grinned at him.

"Hey, yourself," Sam replied. "You're here early."

"So are you. That a bad thing?"

"No, no, I just." Sam paused. A grin of his own broke out on his face. "Never mind. Let's get a table."

Because it was a Sunday night, the restaurant was pretty busy. Luckily, Sam and Sarah only had to wait a few minutes for a table. When the host seated them, he gave them their menus and informed them of who would wait on them, and then left. Sam sent a slightly nervous smile across the table. He felt dumb for thinking it and not saying it, but she looked beautiful. Just like she had the last time he saw her.

"I'm thinking of beer tonight," Sarah said. "I don't feel like wine or champagne. How about you?"

"You know, I can't complain. A beer sounds great."

Sam was beginning to remember why he had liked her so much. When their waitress came, he ordered them both a beer. She brought them with surprising speed, and they both thanked her before asking for more time to look over the menu. Although Sam continued to steal glances over his menu at Sarah, he realized that the anxiety from before had come back. They had only shared small talk since arriving at the table. He couldn't hide behind indecision on an entrée forever. Sooner or later, one of them was going to ask, "So how are things?" and it was probably going to be her.

Once Sarah set her menu down and closed it—obviously she had decided—she smiled genially and said, "So, how have things been?"

There it was. Sam's throat felt immediately dry. Where to begin, he thought. _Choose your meal. Choose your meal, and then you can talk._ He quickly decided on the rib-eye steak with mashed potatoes. There. That difficult task was out of the way. After closing his menu, Sam glanced across the table to Sarah.

He swallowed. "Things've been…okay."

She laughed. But she didn't seem bothered by his response. She took a sip of her beer. "Okay, _that's_ a loaded answer."

You're telling me, he thought. "Well. Once our waitress comes, I'll—oh. Haha. Speak of the devil…" Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed their waitress making her way towards them. She arrived moments later to take their orders, after which she disappeared again. Now they were completely alone. "Well, now that we're alone," he said with a chuckle.

And so it began. As Sam told his stories, he thought to himself that Sarah was quite possibly the only person he knew he could trust with all of this. After all, she hadn't told anybody about what had happened with the painting, because otherwise he and Dean would have been caught forever ago. And, she hadn't been freaked out then. He only hoped that she wouldn't freak out as he caught her up with his life thus far. Sam left out a few details—a few _choice_ details—mostly because he didn't figure they were appropriate dinner conversation. She didn't need to know that both he and his brother had died, or that Dean had gone to Hell.

Well, she didn't need to know right _away_. Not yet. He didn't want to traumatize her.

By the end of his tales, Sarah seemed more or less the same as she had at the beginning. Her gaze had become more intense and her resolve had seemingly wavered a bit, but she hadn't broken down or freaked out, which had been precisely his worry.

Just another reason why he had liked her, he thought.

Sam took a long swig of his beer. Throughout the story he had sipped at it. Now it was about a quarter full. "So what about you?" he asked. "What've you been up to since we parted ways?"

Sarah chuckled. "Well, I can't guarantee that things are as…_exciting_ as what you've gone through, but,"—she took a sip of her beer—"after you guys left…I basically went back to things at the auction house. Business as usual, pretty much. But, my dad had a heart attack, and things were rough for a while. The auction house lost profits because I had to take his place while he was recovering." She snorted. "I learned that I am _not_ good at running a business. Talking to people about pieces of art and getting them to bid on them? That, I can do. Appraisals and estate sale scooping? That I can do, too. But finances and payroll and all that managerial work? It's just not for me."

Sam, genuinely interested in her story, shifted in his seat and came to rest his forearms on the table. He leaned on them. "Your dad had a heart attack? God, sorry to hear that. He's doing okay now, though, right?"

"Yeah. He had it just a couple months after you left, just after the New Year." She pursed her lips in faint amusement. "I think it might have had to do with all of the food and alcohol he had on Christmas and New Year's Eve. But, yeah, he's fine."

It was weird to think that she was able to joke about it. But, Sam said nothing. If she could, then it must not have been a major issue anymore. That was good to know.

He was just about to say something else when he noticed their waitress coming toward their table with their food. As if on cue, his stomach gave a loud groaning noise.

He and Sarah both laughed.

"All right, so I've got a well-done rib-eye steak with mashed potatoes…" the waitress placed Sam's plate in front of him. "And a grilled chicken sandwich with seasoned fries." She set Sarah's plate in front of her. "Can I get you two anything else?"

"Maybe dessert later," Sarah said with a smile.

Sam couldn't help but grin at that.

The waitress soon disappeared from view, leaving the two to their dinners. The food smelled absolutely amazing, and Sam, whose stomach gave yet another growl, didn't wait to dig into his mashed potatoes. They were warm and squishy, with just the right consistency. Whoever had cooked them had done so perfectly. He would need to remember this place for the future.

If it still exists, something in the back of his head said.

That made him frown slightly.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked. "Did they not cook it right?"

"Oh, no, no," Sam said suddenly. He put his fork down. "It's nothing. I just poked the roof of my mouth with my fork."

"Ah."

Sam felt guilty for making a white lie. But he couldn't exactly tell Sarah that the end of the world was possibly coming. He was going to do everything to stop it, and a strange sense of cockiness inside of him told him he would succeed. Where, then, had that other voice come from? And why had it been so cynical?

He and Sarah continued to talk about everything and nothing at the same time, enjoying their food and each other's company all the while. There was no more anxiety or discomfort. Sam knew it was because he had somehow managed to get those voices in his head under control, and because of Sarah. He stared at her throughout the dinner with an interest that didn't quit.

What came next surprised him.

"So, are you seeing anyone, Sam?"

He licked his lips. His mouth felt dry again, even though he had just taken a sip of water. At first he answered by shaking his head. Then he said, "No."

Was that a hint of a smile on Sarah's face?

"What about you?" Sam managed to say.

Maybe it hadn't been a smile. "I was," Sarah said. "For a while. But we broke up about a month ago. We met through a friend. And…he was great, but not really?" What left her then sounded like a laugh of embarrassment. Or maybe it was self-pity. Sam wasn't sure. "It's hard to describe what happened."

"Sorry to hear that," was all he could say.

"Don't worry about it. I've moved on. It's nicer now. I don't have to worry about dealing with him, or answering to anyone but myself. I'd forgotten what that felt like."

_There_ was the smile Sam had seen. It lit up her face and made him smile, too.

"I'm having a great time tonight, Sam," she went on to say. "I'd forgotten how much fun it was to talk to you, and just being around you."

Just hearing that made something swell up inside of him. It took Sam a moment to realize what it was. He hadn't felt it in a _long_ time. It was flattery. Sarah had made him feel flattered.

And he liked it.

"Thanks."

Sarah bit her lip playfully. "I'd also forgotten what a handsome smile you've got."

Sam couldn't help but smile again in response.

. . .

"Nngh…"

Dean rolled over on his bed, awakening to the feeling of crisp, overly washed sheets wrapped around him. His throat burned like hell and his head throbbed so hard he swore it was going to burst open. He was smack-dab in the middle of hangover land.

It had been a long, long time since he had drunk that much in one sitting, and it was obvious that he was now paying for it.

He barely opened his eyes. The bright light that flooded his vision caused him to groan loudly.

"Sam, shut the blinds," he muttered.

But no response came. Sam must have still been sleeping. What time was it? Dean wondered.

He carefully rolled onto his back and lifted his arm up so he could see the time on his wristwatch. It took his eyes a minute to focus. The digital numbers read 9:45 AM. What time had he gotten home last night? He couldn't remember.

"Sam," Dean groaned again. "The blinds."

Again, no response. Dean groaned again and sat up. His head began throbbing even worse. For a moment he felt like throwing up, but after dipping his head down toward his chest, he rid himself more or less of the sensation. It gave him the chance he needed to finally open his eyes completely. To his surprise, very little light penetrated the vertical blinds that covered the window. But what did hurt like a motherfucker to his hung-over self.

Heaving a sigh, the older Winchester shifted around on the bed until his legs draped over the side. He was facing the other bed. It took him a minute to realize that something was wrong with the picture before him, something that he hadn't noticed before.

The bed was made perfectly, with not a single piece out of place. But, that wasn't what seemed strange to him. What did was the fact that Sam's cell phone wasn't on the nightstand. Nor was his wallet. That meant he wasn't in the room. But they had a new rule: neither was allowed to leave without letting the other know in some way, shape or form. Sam had been the one to come up with it in the first place.

And now he had broken it. That wasn't like him.

Dean's hangover didn't seem quite as important at that moment. He ignored his agonizing headache and got up with a grunt of effort, heading over to the bathroom to relieve himself. But then came the sudden sound of the door handle rattling. He turned and immediately regretted it, because his head started swimming. He reached up and gripped the side of it.

At that moment, Sam walked into the room.

Before he had the door shut, Dean muttered, "Where were you?"

"Getting coffee," Sam said.

Dean saw the two white cups and the smell emanating from them. Damn, was it strong. He would have believed that had he not seen Sam's phone and wallet missing. The wallet, he could understand. But the cell phone…there was no need for that if he were simply getting coffee down the hall from the vending machine. It was barely a minute walk there and back.

"That all?"

"Yeah." Sam sounded a little uncertain, almost aloof. He probably knew that Dean didn't believe him. But, he said nothing to counteract it. "Here."

Dean took the proffered coffee, which was warm and sweet in his hands. Coffee always helped alleviate the stress and pain of his hangover headaches. He took a light sip and wrenched his face at how hot it was on his tongue. Still, it tasted nice. He watched Sam go over to the bed and pull out his wallet and cell phone, putting them on the nightstand.

Everything was hazy in Dean's head. Although he remembered coming back to the hotel last night, he couldn't remember whether or not Sam had been there. Flashes entered his head randomly, reminding him of the hot blond he had flirted with at some point, and then the brunette, and then the twins. But he hadn't come home with any of them, obviously, because he had been alone in his bed. Nor was he naked. _Nor_ was his crotch sore.

"You got home late last night," Sam chuckled.

"Do you remember what time?" Dean took another ginger sip of his coffee. A tentative probing.

"Nope."

"Huh."

Dean made his way to his bed and carefully lay himself down on it after setting his coffee on the nightstand. He felt Sam's eyes on him. On top of that, he felt a weird sense discomfort when he looked at his brother and caught him smiling like a dope.

"What're you smiling about?"

"Nothing," Sam said immediately. His smile disappeared.

"God, Sam, you are the _worst_ liar." Dean tried to look at him again, but a sudden flash of light from behind Sam made him nearly growl. He covered his eyes. "Will you do something about those blinds, _please_?"

As he lay there, Dean heard Sam get up from the bed and fidget with the blinds. Even behind his hand, he could tell that the light had disappeared. When he opened his eyes again, the room was blissfully dark. Sure, his still hurt, but not nearly as bad as before. And without light to instigate further pain, maybe he would recover faster.

Now he was going to proceed with questioning his little brother further. He shifted onto his side and looked at Sam.

"So, give it up."

"What?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "What's got you smiling like such a dork?"

"I told you, nothing!"

But the way Sam's voice raised just slightly told him otherwise. That only happened on very rare occasions—when his little brother had had sex, or was involved with someone. Why Sam would lie about it, he didn't know. It made Dean smirk almost smugly.

"Sammy…did you get some?"

"Dean!"

Another voice raise. Granted, Sam tried to hide it by clearing his throat, but Dean caught it. That was all the confirmation that he needed to solidify his belief. Sam had gotten some last night, and now he was trying to conceal that fact.

"Oh, come on, Sam, you can be honest with me. Where'd you meet her?" He paused, furrowing his brow. "Hey, _wait_. You left me at the bar last night cause you had a headache. But you didn't! Did you go out somewhere else without me? You sneaky little bitch." He grinned.

Sam didn't respond. Dean could see the gears turning in his little brother's head. Not only that, but he could see him giving in. A defeated look would always take over Sam's face when he wanted to say something, but needed that extra little push to get him over the edge.

Dean knew exactly how to do it. "So, what was her name?"

Sam was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "It was Sarah."

His response was immediate—immediate and confused. "Who?" Dean wasn't thinking clearly enough to ruffle through his memory. Whoever Sarah was, it—"Wait." He blinked. "Sarah? As in that pro…pro…" He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Provenance?" Sam said.

"Yeah, yeah. Her." Dean almost shot up from his bed. "You met up with her again? Sam!" He couldn't help but laugh. That was amazing. Of all the things for Sam to do, he hadn't expected him to meet up with an old flame and rekindle the romance. That was like something Dean would do. It made him very proud. He grinned brightly. "Nice. How was it?"

Sam's cheeks were turning pink. "We didn't do what you're thinking, Dean."

Dean's grin turned into a disgruntled frown. "Well, why the hell not, Sam?"

"Because all we agreed to was dinner."

"Oh, come on. Dinner? Wait, did she ask you, or did you ask her?"

"She asked me, but—"

"Sam!" Dean reached up and gripped both sides of his head in mild frustration. He let out a snort. "That's the _perfect_ in. You had a free ticket!"

"Dean, you're disgusting."

Dean knew better than to take that at whole value. Sam didn't mean it. He never did when he said it. "I'm serious. And I _know_ you like her, Sam. You kissed her before we left. I remember that much."

"It was just dinner, Dean."

A sudden memory flashed before Dean's eyes. He saw himself coming to the hotel room late last night, stumbling toward his bed and falling down on it. His memory distinctly showed his brother's bed, perfectly made like nobody had slept in it at all.

"Is that what they're calling it now?" Dean teased.

Sam obviously didn't understand how big of a deal this was. But then again, he almost never did. For Dean, though, this meant a whole heck of a lot. Mostly, though, it meant that Sam was still _Sam_. He was still Dean's little brother. Still _human_.

Dean knew how strange that sounded, which was why he told nobody about it. But sometimes it just felt like Sam wasn't like he used to be—even _after_ having been resurrected. He was more gung-ho, more aggressive. Shoot first, ask questions later. In short, he was more like Dean was. And for the older Winchester, that was disconcerting.

He had a theory. Dean had felt weird ever since coming back from Hell, namely because his brother had given in and learned to control the demonic powers inside of him—the one thing that the older Winchester fought so hard to prevent. And they had changed Sam, whether his little brother wanted to believe it or not.

It had been over an entire year since Sam had even _thought_ of anyone romantically. Dean knew. He listened to him talk in his sleep sometimes. Going that long without thinking of someone in such a way just wasn't healthy. At least, not to Dean. He knew that Sam wasn't as easy-going about these kinds of things as he was, himself. But still. It just wasn't right.

And here, that had changed. In an instant, Sam seemed like his old self again after having run into Sarah. Dean wanted to cling to that Sam. Maybe Sarah would help revert him to normal. She could do things that he could never do for his brother…things that would bring back the Sammy that Dean loved dearly.

Dean wanted Sam back to normal for selfish reasons, too, although he would never admit it. Coming back from Hell had been rough. Actually, it had been more than rough. For the first few nights, he could barely sleep. The fear and shock he felt was enough to keep his nerves on edge for nearly ever. And Sam, although he had been there to help, didn't seem like he normally did. There was no real way to describe it, but it just didn't _feel_ like Sam entirely. Almost like some kind of very well made copy of the giant.

He wanted that normal Sam. No, he _needed_ that. A Sam with demonic powers meant a Sam doing things his way…going against everything Dean knew and held to be true. A Sam with demonic powers meant a Sam who didn't need to rely on help from his older brother.

Dean couldn't handle that. Sam was his world, his everything. If he didn't need him anymore, then Dean felt useless—the one thing in his life he had fought so hard to prove that he wasn't.

Uselessness is a horrible feeling.

"I was thinking we could stay another night or two," Sam said. "Maybe longer."

His words interjected Dean's thoughts. The older one shook his head, and immediately regretted it. The full force of his headache returned. He grunted. "Yeah, sure, that's fine. Ow. Fuck, that smarts." He hissed in a breath. "I've gotta…recover today, anyway, I think. I'm not feeling so hot."

Sam chortled. "How much did you drink last night?"

"Enough. Let's just say I'm surprised I'm not praying to the porcelain gods."

"Well, if you need anything, I'll be here until later tonight."

Maybe Sam didn't realize how much Dean needed him. Or maybe he did, and just didn't care.

For the moment, though, Dean knew that Sam needed Sarah. He needed some normalcy in his life, needed some consistency. And she was probably the only one who could provide it.

And Dean could wait. Lilith could wait. The apocalypse could wait. Whatever Sam needed to be happy, Dean would fight tooth and nail to make sure he got it.

Because Sam's happiness was Dean's happiness.

And a happy, healthy, _normal_ Sam was all Dean needed to feel like he could do anything again.


	18. A Goodbye or a See You?

**Author's Notes: **So this is a liiittle earlier than I normally post (just a day or so!) but I had the time and I thought, hey, why not? Cause I know how frustrating it can get while waiting for a story to update. We're winding down toward the end, just so you all know. ;) I'm not going to say how many chapters are left, though, because where's the fun in that? Also, I wanted to take the time to make some comments to some of my reviewers:

_Dianne: _I'm not sure if you're this far ahead in the story or not (since you reviewed more toward the beginning), but I agree! I'm one of those people who really like explanations for things, and the fact that thus far, Dean's not really had much exposure to how he was brought back (or rather I guess _why_, at least fully) kind of irked me at first. I started this story just a month or so after the end of season 3, so my brain was working it all out. Sam losing Dean is VERY big...and I wanted to go more into how he was dealing with it!

_Blueeyesbetter: _I thought so, too! I think Dean would give up just about anything for Sam. And like Zane said, you wanna see him happy, and in my opinion, a happy Sam makes for a happy Dean. :)

_Ladie red: _Oh, I agree totally! I love Sarah. Bringing her back actually wasn't something I planned on doing at first...but I worked it in because for some reason, it hit me right upside the head as a good idea. And I think it worked out pretty well!

All right everyone, that's enough of my rambling. On with the story! Reviews are always super appreciated. :)

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Sam stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans once he stepped out the door to their hotel room and shut it behind him. Dean had once again sent him on an errand. This time, however, instead of getting food, he was getting aspirin.

"Lots of aspirin," Dean had told him.

Things went over better than he thought they would. His white lie about having been there that night had clearly been dismissed when the idea of Sam being intimate with someone entered the picture. As he walked down the cool hallway toward the staircase, he recalled the first time he had run into Sarah, and Dean's reaction then. He remembered how Dean had been concerned that he hadn't been having fun…that he had been so serious and depressed that it was just bad for his mental health.

Last night had been anything but bad, really. He and Sarah didn't have sex, but if Dean wanted to think that, then more power to him. He would have just made fun of Sam over the fact that they spent majority of the night talking, anyway. It wasn't as if Sam had been opposed to the idea of being intimate with Sarah. No, rather, he felt it wasn't right for that time. They were both in such a good mood after having dinner that he didn't want to ruin it by pressuring sex on the both of them.

And everything had worked out miraculously well. He had left sometime that morning and gone back to the hotel, got some coffee and headed into the room, ready to pretend nothing had happened. He should have known better than to try and hide it from Dean. He didn't even really know why he tried, as it was. It was just habit. The last girl he had been with was Madison, and…well. That hadn't ended up very good at all. Sam's heart sank just thinking about it. Dean hadn't been terribly pleased with that whole situation.

He made his way down the stairs and into the lobby of the hotel, and was about to go outside when he felt a pair of eyes on him. At first he glanced around casually. But when that proved ineffective, he downright turned his head a few times. Who he saw caught his attention right away.

"Ruby."

"The one and only."

She looked…surprisingly summery. Her hair was back over her shoulders, and she wore a simple red t-shirt with a pair of khaki colored capri pants. Sam didn't know what to think of it. He chuckled, for lack of anything of importance to say.

"Good to see you can find some humor in my outfit, Sam. Demons can get warm, too." She sounded miffed.

"Sorry, I just…never thought you the type to wear such…I dunno." Sam reached up and scratched at his hair. "What're you doing here?"

"Let's go somewhere private to talk," Ruby said. She glanced around them. "There's an alley just to the side of the hotel, here. Come on." Without waiting for confirmation, Ruby turned around and headed out through the revolving glass door. Sam followed her to the alleyway, at which point she stood with her hands poised on her hips. "Where were you off to? Somewhere important, I hope?"

"I was gonna get Dean some aspirin," Sam explained. "He's got one hell of a hangover, and he needs it so he can function today."

"Glad to know he's using his second chance at life to get drunk off his ass."

"Hey, Dean deserved it." Sam spoke with a slightly defensive tone. He didn't elaborate.

"Yeah, well, I thought you two would be keeping up with things. Not…social calls." Ruby shook her head. "I was gonna talk to you last night, but you were at that girl's house, and…"

Sam smirked. "Is that jealousy in your voice, Ruby? I didn't think—"

"It's not jealousy, Sam. It's called distaste. The apocalypse is coming, and what are you doing? Flirting with some bimbo on her couch."

"Ouch. The green-eyed monster rears its ugly head."

The corners of Ruby's mouth and eyes twitched slightly, and creases appeared in her forehead. "Listen, Sam. Big shit is going down. Lilith's trying to bring Hell to Earth."

"I know," Sam said. "Dean and I were wondering why no demons were coming after us, and so we summoned one and tortured him until he told us everything." He blinked. "Hey, by the way, where've _you_ been? It's been like, two or three weeks since I've seen you."

"I've been trying to get my knife back," she replied matter-of-factly. "And you what? You tortured a demon just to get information?" But she sounded strangely more pleased than offended by this statement. She folded her arms over her chest. "So. What all did they tell you?"

"He told me that Lilith's building an army of demons, and that's why none of them are coming after us. But I don't see how she can bring the apocalypse to the Earth with them and without like, the four horsemen. You know? Pestilence, war, famine, death…those guys." He snorted lightly.

"They do exist," Ruby said, as if she had read Sam's skeptical mind. "Oh, believe me, Sam. They exist. And if Lilith is as insistent as she seems to be making herself out to be, she's going to be breaking the great seals left and right to bring them to Earth again."

"Wait. Please don't tell me this is going to get biblical."

A disbelieving look appeared on Ruby's face. "Come on, Sam. Her name is Lilith. She's waging a war on humankind. She's a follower of Lucifer. How could you _not_ think it was going to get biblical at some point?"

Sam rubbed his temples. This was too much to take in at once. He had just been going out to get aspirin, and now he was hearing that his opponent was _really _trying to bring the apocalypse to Earth. But what got to him the worst was the fact that Yellow-Eyes had originally planned this for him—had originally planned on Sam being the antichrist, the one to lead the demon army on humankind. It made him sick, and he didn't refrain from showing it.

"Didn't you say that demons were gonna be chasing my ass all around the place after I saved Dean?" Sam asked suddenly. "I kinda wish that that was the case instead of this."

"Well, I was wrong." She sighed. Then Ruby insisted with confidence, "You can stop her. You know you can. Lilith can't bring the apocalypse if she doesn't free all four of the horsemen. And breaking those seals takes a lot of time and energy. Humankind has dealt with other demons who have tried and failed. Who do you think caused the world wars?"

It was funny. As Ruby spoke to him, Sam could hear her, but it was as if her words went in one ear and right out the other. Things had just been taken to a completely new level—a level that, for the first time in a long time, evoked a sense of true fear within him. If he didn't stop Lilith in time, then there would be no way to prevent Hell on Earth. There would be no way to save humankind. They would all be doomed.

"Sam? _Sam_! Are you even listening to me any more?"

"Huh?" Sam gave a brief shake of his head and glanced down at Ruby. She looked pissed.

"I was telling you that there are seven seals Lilith needs to break in order to bring the apocalypse on Earth. And while you and Dean play around, she's got plenty of time to learn about them and prepare herself in doing it. You had both better prepare yourselves. The demon lied to you, Sam. She's _not_ building an army. She's gonna let the horsemen do the dirty work for her. What her demons are doing is scouting the globe to try and find the location of the seals. And if she senses that you're on her trail, she's probably gonna send the extra ones after you and your brother."

"Come with us, then, Ruby," Sam said. "You don't want this, either. You said it yourself. You can help us. Guide us."

"I work alone, Sam." Ruby's words were surprisingly cold. They made Sam blink. "I'll keep in touch. But if I don't get my knife back, Lilith's damn near unstoppable." She turned to leave.

Something inside of Sam's head immediately disagreed with that, and he groaned. Maybe Ruby would be able to shed some light on the situation. "Ruby, wait, before you go." He reached out and touched her forearm, and she turned around to face him again. "There's this…voice…inside my head. And it's cocky, and so…full of itself. It makes me feel like I can do anything. Like I've got this infinite amount of energy and possibility. But then sometimes it's cynical and depressing. It's really frustrating me. Do you know what it is?"

"At first I was gonna say your conscience." Ruby smirked. "But that's probably just the influence of the demonic blood in you. I'd have thought you'd be used to it by now, Sam. Either that, or I thought it would have taken over by now. Why do you think most demons act the way they do? Wait." She snapped her fingers. "How does that quote go? 'Absolute power corrupts absolutely'? Yeah, that's it. And you can't get much more powerful than demons. Well, you can, but…you know what I mean."

Somehow, that wasn't the answer Sam was looking for. He stared at Ruby, disgruntled, and wondering if she wasn't just screwing with him. But it was hard to tell. Even after having known her for nearly a year, Sam still could barely make sense of her. Ruby was a serious enigma.

"Thanks," he settled on saying. It didn't feel like the right thing to say, but he went with it.

"I'll be around, Sam. Next time, warn me if you're gonna stay at some chick's house."

Sam watched Ruby sway off onto the somewhat crowded sidewalk not too far away. He stood there for a few moments and waited until she was out of sight before he smacked his hands to his face and gave a long, frustrated groan.

"Things just couldn't stay simple, could they?" he said to no one in particular.

. . .

"Wait, so let me get this straight."

Dean rubbed his eyebrows so hard that little white flakes of dried skin collected in them. It was clear that he didn't get it, although whether that was because of how complicated it was or his hangover, Sam didn't know.

"Lilith is trying to break these…what, seven seals, so she can free the four horsemen of the apocalypse and bring Hell to Earth."

"Yeah," Sam said.

"And in order to do it, she needs a lot of strength and time."

"Yeah."

"And she's had…_how_ long since I died? May? That's what…two months?"

"Yeah."

_Man_, Sam thought. _I sound repetitive._

Dean nursed his coffee, and then let out a heavy sigh. "And you say Ruby told you all of this in the alleyway just down there."

"…Yup."

"Why does she never come when I'm around?" Dean mused aloud.

"I dunno, Dean. I'm just telling you what she told me. She sounded worried about it, so I have to believe her. Ruby hasn't lied to me yet."

"But the demon said Lilith was building an army."

"Of course he did. He probably wanted to throw us off the trail so we went after other demons instead of Lilith. Remember what he said? 'If you were smart, you'd do the same'?" Sam leaned back on his bed, propping his upper body up with his elbows and forearms against the bed. He looked at Dean. "He was trying to send us on a wild goose chase just so we would waste our time trying to senselessly collect other demons instead of going after the one that mattered most."

For a moment, Dean was silent. The creases in his forehead were so pronounced that Sam thought he could pour water in them and create little ravines.

Then, the older one said, "God, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse. This is fucking _great_."

Sam sighed. He had wanted confirmation that the apocalypse was coming, and, well, now he had it. Suddenly staying here and spending another evening with Sarah didn't seem like such a good idea. It hadn't lost its appeal, however. Part of the younger hunter felt guilty for wanting to spend time with her when he obviously should have been out chasing Lilith down. But what could they do until they had some better sense of where she was?

Then it hit him. And it hit Dean just the same.

"Bobby," they said in unison.

"He helped us find her before," Sam stated. "With that device, remember?"

"And the Latin phrases, or Greek, or whatever. Yeah, I remember. Barely. That…was right before I bit the dust. Everything's kind of rushed and fuzzy from that time."

"Still. If Bobby can help us find her, or at least keep tabs on her while we try and prepare ourselves…that's a lot better than nothing."

Dean hesitated. "So, we're heading back to Bobby's place?"

It took Sam a moment to realize why he, too, had done so. His heart jerked. He had just found Sarah again, and he wanted to talk to her…wanted to see her. But there was no way he could stay here and try and keep contact with Bobby at the same time. Well, there was through the phone, but it just didn't seem right to do that, just so he could stay here in New York to be with a girl.

But the look in Dean's eyes seemed to suggest otherwise. "Sammy, it's okay. We can stay here and talk to Bobby over the phone and get the info. It's not like he needs our help doing it."

Dean was giving him an out. And for the first time in quite possibly ever, Sam was thankful that his brother was meddling in his affairs. "Yeah," he said, unable to keep from smiling just a little. "Why don't we do that?"

The older Winchester took a long drink of his black coffee. Then he smacked his lips together a few times, and grinned. "All right, then that's the plan. I'll call Bobby, let him know what we know, and see what _he _knows. We've got the Colt. That should do the trick just fine. We don't need Ruby's knife. And…who knows?" Dean shrugged. "Maybe we'll have this bitch killed by

the end of the month, and then it's bye-bye apocalypse and hello, vacation at the beach."

Where the idea of going to the beach for vacation had come from, Sam didn't really know. But he wasn't going to question his brother's motives. If the idea of going to the beach was motivation enough, then it worked for him. As it stood now, Sam had a heavy weight on his shoulders that he was going to have to partially dump on Sarah. He knew now that yes, he wanted to be with her. And it felt good to say that. But he couldn't be with her and not let her know what was going on. Likewise, he was sure she wouldn't appreciate being kept in the dark. She was a tough, smart woman who could hold her own. And Sam admired that.

He just hoped that she could deal with the pressure of knowing about an impending apocalypse and not being able to tell anyone. Dealing with it herself seemed like something she could do just fine, save for some difficulty. Sam was having more than enough. He knew that it wasn't going to be entirely far fetched of an idea.

Without his realizing it, Dean had already dialed up Bobby's number and was calling him. That left Sam to call Sarah. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and stood, heading outside to the small balcony adjacent to their room. He dialed up Sarah's number.

A smile appeared on his face when he heard her voice.

. . .

Sam hadn't lied entirely to Sarah. Part of the reason why he asked to meet with her for dinner again that night _was_ because he wanted to. But, for the most part, he needed to update her on what was going on. If they were going to be together, it was as he thought: he would need to inform her of the situation, and see what she decided. Ultimately it was her choice.

Sam wished that the Super 8 hotel they were staying in had a restaurant. But since it didn't, he and Sarah decided they would eat at the diner where they had run into each other. With Dean out of commission for the night, Sam took the impala the short drive down Main Street and parked in the lot, heading inside.

It being Monday night, the diner was scarce on customers. However, music played throughout the place and a television spouting the news rested just above the counter. Both would provide a good enough sound distraction to keep people from listening in on them. Plus, when asked if he had a preference for a spot to sit, Sam requested he be placed in the corner, far away from the bathrooms. Here, he and Sarah could talk in peace.

She arrived just a few minutes after he did. He stood up and greeted her with a warm hug.

Sarah had caught the seriousness in Sam's voice when he called, and so she was more than aware that what they had to discuss—although he couldn't explain it over the phone—was grave. Still, she was smiling and warm, and that was good.

Sam didn't realize he needed that.

"So, I'm gonna guess you've gotta go…save the world again," Sarah teased lightly.

Their waitress interrupted their budding conversation by taking giving them menus and taking their drink orders. Sam didn't open his menu, even after she had left.

"Something like that," he said with a laugh.

"What's up?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Listen, Sarah, I…" He bit his lip momentarily. "I'm…just gonna come right out and say this. I…don't think I ever stopped liking you. It was probably sheer luck that we even ran into each other again, but I'm definitely not gonna complain about it."

"Uh-huh." Sarah eyed Sam carefully.

"And I know you just got out of that relationship and all, but I really want to be with you."

"I'm sensing a but."

Sam winced slightly. "But…there's something going on. And you deserve to know about it before I ask you if you want to take things to the next level."

Even though Sarah seemed somewhat skeptical, she nonetheless also appeared concerned. She laid her hand on top of one of Sam's, which was resting on the thick, solid plastic tabletop. He ignored the jolt that sent through his body and proceeded to tell her all that Ruby had told him. It took some time, and he had to stop in between every now and then because of random passersby and their waitress taking their order. (Wasn't this place supposed to be more private?) By the end of it his heart was beating quickly and his palms were a little sweaty. He had never felt quite so nervous before, and although he didn't _like_ it, he knew he couldn't blame himself for getting worked up.

This was the fate of the world sitting on his and Dean's shoulders, after all.

He didn't know how to gauge Sarah's response at first. She remained silent, and Sam felt compelled to continue speaking. "The only reason I could see against getting involved with you is the possibility that…well, I might not make it back."

Yes you will, that something in his head told him. Sam ignored it.

Sarah nodded faintly. "So you don't think you can do it?"

Sam chose his words with care. "I don't…want to get cocky."

"I can understand that. This is a big deal, Sam. I mean…seriously." Sarah gave a quiet snort. But she didn't remove her hand from his.

"I would be going all over the place, chasing Lilith," he explained further. "With any luck, Dean and I will be able to get her before things get too serious. But…I wouldn't be able to sit around and stay here."

"I didn't figure you could, anyways," Sarah said simply. She smiled, and Sam felt a twinge of guilt.

This really was what he wanted _so badly_. He wanted a normal life, with a normal girlfriend, and a _home_, not hotel room after hotel room. He wanted to be Sam Winchester, not Wedge Antilles, or Phil Jones, or Frank Beard. And when he looked at Sarah, he could see that. He could see himself living with her under a roof in some apartment, with a job—maybe even a degree in law like he had hoped for—and _happy_. He hadn't felt that way about any woman since he had been with Jessica. But, then came along Dean, and ever since then, things had been one mess after another.

"I don't want to ask you to commit to me, only to maybe die and leave you alone to deal with that," Sam said.

"I'm a grown woman, Sam," Sarah said. She chuckled. "I appreciate you looking out for my feelings, but I can make my own decisions. And I dunno about you, but after half the stuff you've told me, I don't see how you _can't_ do this. You've saved dozens of innocent people, and helped to destroy vengeful spirits that bring harm on others. You've slain beasts. You're a regular He-Man."

Sam felt another pang of guilt. He still hadn't told Sarah about how Dean had resurrected him, and how the reverse had happened, too. That would have probably changed her tune.

"Yeah," was all he could say.

"Tell you what." Sarah finally pulled her hand from Sam's, but in doing so, she leaned in and brought it up to his face. She pinched his cheek and then patted her palm against it. It made him smirk faintly. "I'm not going anywhere any time soon. If you're seriously concerned that you'll die, then fine. We can just…keep things the way they are, now. But you should know that I never stopped liking you, either, and was hoping I'd get a chance to see you again. I'm going to be depressed if you die whether we're together or not." She, too, smirked, and took on a playful tone. "Anyway, I'd like to think that you'd fight harder if you knew you had someone to come home to."

What she said then hit Sam in a multitude of ways. Hope sprung within him, because yes, he would fight harder if he had someone to come back to. But just the same, fear tainted that hope, because everyone he had ever cared for had left him in some way, most through death: his mother, his father, Jessica, and even Dean. He couldn't handle that happening again. He didn't think he could open himself up to the possibility that Sarah might die, too, just because of him. Not only that, but how could he stop hunting? How could he just go back and pretend like nothing evil was going on in the world? Even if he wanted to so much it hurt sometimes?

Suddenly he felt a lot more anxious than he had before. How this was going to work out, he didn't know. But he was sure as hell gonna try to make it happen. That good old Winchester resolved coursed through his veins.

Hardened as he was, Sam kept the sudden tears he felt welling up in the corners of his eyes from falling. And he cleared his throat to remove the blockage that had built up there. He reached up and covered Sarah's hand with his. Her skin was so soft, so warm. It felt nice.

The two stared at each other in silence for a while, but the moment was broken when the waitress appeared with their food. Neither Sam nor Sarah realized she was even coming, and it wasn't until she started talking that they broke apart. The waitress gave them a once over with her dark eyes, as if uncertain about whether or not she should say something more. She just placed their food in front of them with very few words, taking her leave afterward.

Sam looked at Sarah again.

"I know you're scared," she said. "And you've got every right to be. But you've got your brother, and you've got me." An amused look slowly appeared on her face. "Whether you like it or not."

"I like it," Sam teased. He gripped his fork and began to poke at his breakfast-dinner. He thought that maybe he shouldn't have ordered the pancakes. "I'm probably gonna have to leave soon," he announced.

"That's fine. But you're coming home with me tonight."

Sam knew better than to argue.

…Not that he even wanted to.


	19. The Chase

**Author's Notes: **Hi all! I almost thought I wasn't gonna get the chance to post this, because I was having issues logging in, but thankfully I got in, and here I am a postin'! Yay! Like I said before, we're coming down to the wire...the story's winding down and getting close...woooo! I'm getting antsy thinking about it. But, I'm a nerd. (and I love it!)

Some shout outs:

_Dianne_: I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much! I agree that it's good for Sam to have someone else to talk to. That was part of my reasoning for putting Sarah in the story. I thought he deserved some happiness after everything he's been through, particularly with saving Dean. And I love Bobby, so any little cameo he gets in my stories always makes me a happy camper. :D

_Zane_: I know I never write things in here to you (mostly since I talk to you every day), but just wanted to let you know that I don't think this story would have happened without you edging me on every day and letting me bounce ideas off of you. As like with most of my stories, this is dedicated to you. 3

Also, I'm in the process of trying to write some other stories...and seemingly not having the best of luck. This is my final year for college, and I'm trying to get into this program to study in Korea over the summer, so I'm frazzled and torn every which way. It's bonkers! But I'm trying my best...so keep an eye out for these stories sooner or later ;)

**

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Sam felt hot.

Very, very hot.

When he opened his eyes, he found that he was standing in the middle of a large, expansive desert. The sky was a bright, almost blinding shade of golden yellow—almost as if the sun had burst and flooded it with color. That would possibly explain the heat, too. He looked down at himself. He was wearing his boots, a pair of jeans, a button up plaid shirt and his jacket, like usual. Why was he dressed in so much on such a scalding hot day, he wondered?

Out in the distance, Sam heard something that chilled him immediately. It was the cry of a horse—only it sounded otherworldly, and haunting. He quickly glanced around him in every direction. Not a single person was in sight. No, all he could see were miles and miles of sand. However, to his left was a very distinctive rock formation. It was tall—certainly much taller than Sam, and probably a two- or three-story building. And it ran a long way sideways. Its sides curved around, almost, like it was surrounding something. He was too far away to see, and so he stepped towards it, as if instinctively pulled its way.

But he stopped moving. The horse's cry came once more, and Sam instinctively looked up toward the brilliantly shining sky. He squinted his eyes so tightly that he could barely see anything. But, for some reason he knew that he had no sunglasses on him, so he had no way to protect his eyes from the glare. He searched the sky for the origin of the sound, only to finally see, way off in the distance, a small black speck. That had to be it. As he watched it, he felt a sense of dread fill him. He felt glued in his place…like he couldn't move even if he tried.

The speck grew larger and larger as it approached with blinding speed. Soon he could make out its silhouette—a horse, sure enough, but with something atop it. Along came another cry, though louder and more wailing this time. He winced and tried to cover his ears, only to fail. He was transfixed on the creature. Sitting upon the horse's back, he could see a man wearing what looked like a crown, carrying a bow. But the details were lost on him. The sky blinded him.

But then, out of the blue, the sky changed colors. The bright, golden glow disappeared completely, and was now replaced with a dull mix of black, grey and flashes of white. Sam heard several rumbles of thunder, sounds so loud that they made him fall to the ground, covering his ears. The whinnying of the horse had become dangerously loud as well. Though his hands distorted his hearing, Sam could still hear the cry loud and clear. It sent chills through his body once more.

Sam stared up at the sky almost out of defiance. There, he saw the horse and the man in better detail. The horse itself was a shade of snowy white, while the man wore robes of the same color, with what looked like blue fabric draped over parts of it. Atop his head did sit a crown, which glowed gold despite the torrential backdrop. Although Sam could not see his face, he could see the man's strong, muscular arms holding a bow at the ready. Only…he had no arrows.

This whole thing was beginning to scare him. But, like before, Sam stared, transfixed, at the large man before him. The horse gave another bellowing cry, and before the young hunter had a chance to blink, both it and the man atop it shot off into the distance.

The last thing Sam remembered hearing was a loud clap of thunder before waking up suddenly. He shot straight up in the bed, covers dropping down to his waist. Sweat glistened over his bare torso and his face. He looked down beside him, where Sarah slept peacefully. He stared out the window to his left for a moment. The sun had just begun to light up the city—he could see it through the curtains. It must have been maybe five, six o'clock in the morning, he thought.

What had that dream been about? Was it another premonition of what was to come? And if it was, how soon did Sam have to stop it?

Sarah shifting around in her sleep beside him caught Sam's attention. He looked down at her again, willing himself to calm down. He slid back beneath the covers, resting his head against the pillow. His heart still pounded in his chest and blood pumped harshly in his ears. It had felt so real. And those cries…the despair they had given him. Sam didn't know what to think of them. They were frightening. There was no other word for them.

He took a deep breath, and then sighed. He grabbed his phone from the small table to his left. The bright screen lit up his face in the fading darkness of Sarah's room. Should he tell Dean now? No, he thought. He could wait to tell him when he saw him later that day. For now, he needed to go back to sleep.

But he hesitated. Would he see more dreams like that one?

God, he hoped not.

. . .

The ride home proved to be a little bit more than Sam could apparently handle. He and Sarah had shared a long good-bye that ended up with him hesitating in the parking lot, not wanting to go. But he knew he had to. And once he turned the engine over, there was no looking back.

Taking down Lilith was his focus now. If he didn't stop her, then there would be nothing to come back to. And he refused to let that be the case.

When he arrived at the hotel room door, he paused in front of it, just listening. Inside, he could hear the water running. Dean must have been in the shower. He slid his cardkey through the slot, the door gave a light click and he went inside. He had already eaten breakfast. From the looks of it, Dean had had his ordered in. It sat on the dresser by the television, along with a copy of the bill.

While Sam waited for Dean to come out of the shower, he sat on his bed and watched some television. But he didn't pay much attention; his mind was elsewhere. Memories of that dream plagued him pretty badly. Now he was coherent enough to know that he had seen the Horseman of Pestilence and Conquest in his dream. For all he knew, it could have even been a psychic message that he had been freed.

That was when his attention to the television finally clicked back in place. It was on the news channel, and Sam listened attentively after the mentioning of 'sudden widespread disease'. He turned the volume up somewhat.

"The Chinese leader, Wen Jiabao, has denied claims that the food industry has seen a slack in quality, despite the tens of thousands of children who suddenly have fallen ill due to the presence of melamine in products such as from milk, milk powder and yogurt…"

Sam didn't watch the news on television often, but he kept up with it through feeds and articles on the internet. He would have remembered reading something about this. The fact that he hadn't, coupled with the dream from the night before, made him uneasy. He turned the volume up a little more as he saw Dean emerge from the bathroom, toweling himself off.

"Jesus!" Sam exclaimed suddenly.

Dean hurriedly covered his bare front with the towel after nearly jumping right up into the ceiling. "Damn it, Sam!" he bellowed in fright. He clutched the towel against his privates. "I thought you were still at Sarah's!"

Sam covered his eyes and muttered, "I thought you'd have heard the television on! Or the door opening!"

"Well, keep your eyes closed! I need to grab my clothes."

The younger hunter did just that while Dean rummaged around for clean boxers, jeans and a shirt. Once he had dressed completely, he coughed and said, "You can look now."

Sam and Dean may have been close, and they may have seen each other naked once or twice in their adult lives, but it was definitely not something either wanted to relive. There were just certain things about your brother that you shouldn't ever see, or ever know. This was one of those things, in Sam's opinion.

"So what're you doing back so early?" Dean asked. He began picking at his breakfast, having taken it from the dresser over to his bed.

"Dean, it's like ten o'clock. It isn't early. And anyway, I needed to come back. You said Bobby had important stuff to tell us, remember?"

"Yeah, but I figured I wouldn't see you at least until the afternoon. S'what I told Bobby."

Sam shook his head. He stayed quiet for a moment so as to let Dean chew down some of his food. After a while, he said, "I told Sarah."

He didn't know how he expected Dean to react. Angry, maybe, or frustrated. Scared. Worried. Any number of emotions, really. What surprised him was the fact that the older hunter simply looked at him, plopped some scrambled eggs in his mouth and gave a curt nod, as if he understood and agreed.

Not wanting to push it further, Sam let it go.

"So what's Bobby got to tell us?"

"I wath gonna call 'im afder breakfatht," Dean said through a mouthful. He swallowed. "But this stuff tastes…well. It's not _bad_. But fuck. I wouldn't call it breakfast. I'm done."

He shook his head and set the platter of food at the foot of his bed, but not before grabbing one slice of toast. He grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand and flipped it open, then searched for Bobby's phone number. He hit the button. Sam watched. Soon Dean said, "Bobby? Hey, I got Sammy here, now. I'm gonna put you on speakerphone, okay?"

After Dean pressed a button on the phone, Sam scooted off his bed and took a seat on Dean's. The older hunter held the phone a ways away from both their faces.

"Boys?" Bobby's voice rang through the air.

"We're here, Bobby," Sam said.

"I got good news and bad news. Good news is, I found where Lilith's hiding out. Bad news is, it's…a hell of a long ways away from where you are, now."

Sam and Dean shared a look.

"Where is she?" Dean asked.

Bobby paused. "Salt Lake City."

"…Damn," Dean muttered. "What the hell is she doing all the way over there?"

"Probably messing with a seal," Bobby said. "But the problem is, I dunno if she'll still be there by the time you guys get there. She just moved there last night. Before, she was all the way in southern Georgia."

"Moves fast," Sam said, feeling a little helpless. How the hell had she gone that far in just one day? And what was more, if she wasn't going to stay there, how would they catch up with her?

"We're gonna have to hope she makes a pit stop around there," Dean said.

"It's a lot to hope for," Bobby said. "But I'll perform the ritual again another time today, see if she goes anywhere. And I'll do it twice tomorrow, too. In the meantime, you boys better try and get down there. Do whatever you can to stop her." Sam and Dean both nodded again. "I've gotta go for now. I got some things I gotta get done in the junkyard, and then I've got a hunter friend coming over to take a look at some of my books. With any luck, we might find some way to distract Lilith so she doesn't bounce around the country so freely and you guys can catch 'er."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said. "We'll call you later tonight, all right? Keep us posted."

"Sounds good, Dean. Sam. You two be careful."

With that, the phone call was over. Dean pocketed his cell and sighed. He looked slightly uncomfortable. Sam could only guess why. But, he said nothing. Instead he just gripped his brother's shoulder, and, in an attempt to crack a joke, said:

"So, who's driving?"

. . .

Dean and Sam left New Paltz, New York just after ten that morning. They had been on the road for about four hours, and the sound of Van Halen's "Everybody Wants Some" poured from the speakers. It had been nearly four solid hours of heavy metal music, and about now, Sam was getting tired of it.

He hadn't yet told Dean about his vision. Now seemed as good a time as any. With slight irritation he leaned forward and turned the volume dial left, and the song quickly faded to a quiet, almost inaudible tone. The look his brother gave him was almost comically vicious.

"Excuse you," Dean said, reaching for the dial.

"Dean, I need to tell you something."

That stopped him.

"What?"

"It's probably nothing like what you're thinking of, so stop worrying yourself already," Sam said lightly. He turned and faced Dean. "Last night…or, I guess this morning, I had what I think was another vision."

Sam had told Dean some time ago about the dreams he had had while his brother was gone. He had told him about the one in Fletcher that led him to the Colt, and about the one that involved Dean and the Incubus that had led him to destroying the creature once and for all. And now he was going to tell him about the one that involved one of the four horsemen.

After he did, Dean stared at him almost warily.

"Does it seriously have to get biblical?" he grumbled.

"Sorry, but it's just what I saw," Sam said. "He was…well. I'm pretty sure he was the Horseman of Pestilence and Conquest. And this morning when I came back to the hotel room, I watched the news, and there was an outbreak of poisoning in China that affected tens of thousands of kids and adults. Coincidence? I think not."

Dean kept his attention forward. Sam could see his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Bitch works fast," he said. He was obviously referring to Lilith.

"But not too fast that we can't get her. With the Colt, we can knock her back into Hell once and for all. I wish we had Ruby's knife as back up, but—"

"You know, I don't see how the hell she hasn't gotten that thing back yet. Didn't you say she's been missing it since even before you rescued me?" Dean chanced a brief glance at Sam from the highway. "She should have it by now. Ruby's like, the winner of finding random, powerful junk. Whoever has her knife must really not want her to—oh, shit."

"What?" Sam asked worriedly.

"How much you wanna bet that Lilith's the one who's got her knife?" Dean let out a terse sigh. "It'd make sense. Take away the only weapon that could do some decent damage. Does she know we've got the Colt back?"

"I'd bet on it," Sam said. "I mean, I had to use it to open the Devil's Gate. And she knows you're alive again…"

Neither said anything for a few minutes after that. Dean didn't attempt to turn the music up, which told Sam that his brother was severely deep in thought. Although he wanted to ask about it, he refrained and stared out the window instead at the blurred scenery passing him by.

Eventually Dean said something that caught his attention.

"So how'd Sarah take all this?"

Sam couldn't judge from his tone whether or not Dean wanted a short or detailed answer. So he went for the short one. "She's okay with it. Sad I had to go, but you know."

Dean nodded. For a very brief moment, there seemed to be a kind of sadness in his eyes. Sam almost didn't catch it. Was Dean envious?

He shook his head.

"All right. I'm getting low on gas, here. We're gonna have to make a pit stop soon. You hungry?"

"A little." Sam rubbed his nose. "I just saw a sign for gas not too long ago. Should be coming up real quick. I think it was for Pittsburgh, actually." He blinked. This trip should have taken much, much longer. At least another hour. He slowly turned his head to Dean. "…How fast are you _driving_?"

Dean smirked wickedly. His response? He pressed harder on the gas, which sent them zooming further down the highway.

. . .

It was sometime around ten o'clock that night when Dean's phone started vibrating on the seat between him and Sam. The guitar rip at the beginning of AC/DC's "Rock 'n' Roll Train" was almost drowned out by the actual AC/DC playing on the radio. Sam immediately turned it down and picked up the phone, flipping it open.

"Bobby?" he said.

"Sam, Lilith's on the move again."

Sam's heart nearly dropped into the bit of his stomach. "Wait, what? What do you mean, she's on the move again?" He saw Dean's head turn, but he gestured fervently to the road. "What happened?"

"Far as I can tell," Bobby began, "she's moved again. I did the ritual, and this time, she came up as being in Oklahoma City."

"_Oklahoma City_?"

"Oklahoma City?" Dean repeated, sounding confused.

"Shh!"

Though irritated, Dean turned his attention back to the road. Sam rubbed his forehead. "So you mean to tell me that in the time it's taken us to get from Pittsburgh to…hell, where are we?"

"Illinois," Dean told him.

"Illinois. She moves way too fast." Sam sighed. "But, at least Oklahoma City is closer than Salt Lake."

"I don't think you boys have to worry about her going anywhere. At least, if I'm right," Bobby said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she left Georgia and arrived in Salt Lake around this time last night. And now, at nearly the same time, she's moved from Salt Lake to Oklahoma City. It's not much to go off of, but my guess is that she's going somewhere new every day at the same time. So you prolly have a chance to catch her there. She's on the outskirts, from what the map is tellin' me. I can't know for sure exactly where, but it's on the eastern side, where you boys'll be pullin' in from."

It was certainly a long shot, but it was also all that Dean and Sam had to go off of. Without any real proof as to whether or not it was true, they were going to have to take a chance. Sam gave Bobby their thanks and said goodbye to him, and immediately turned to his brother.

"Oklahoma City's about another eight hours from here, if I remember right," Dean said, still keeping his eyes on the road. "But I'm gettin' tired. I don't know if I can keep driving."

"We can make a pit stop," Sam suggested. "We don't even have to stay in a hotel and waste money. We can just…sleep in the car." He knew from experience that it worked.

Dean apparently understood that. "Effingham's just a ways away. We'll pull in there, find somewhere to park and take a power nap. Then we'll pick up where we left off and track her down."

That was the last word spoken between them. Dean turned the music back up and tore down the highway until he swerved onto an off-ramp and took them into the city. It was around ten-thirty then and, it being a Tuesday, cars were somewhat scarce on the roads. Dean drove around for a few minutes before he found a chain store parking lot to pull in to. He parked the impala underneath a tall lamppost, which bathed them in artificial light.

"All right, Sam. Get in the back," Dean said.

The nice thing about having a brother who cared about his car so much was that he took the time and effort necessary to make sure it was well taken care of. The back seat of the impala was clean, dry and surprisingly comfortable. Sam had to bend his legs, of course, and that was bound to hurt after a while, but for now, he was going to enjoy it. He grabbed his jacket from the floor and fluffed it into a makeshift pillow.

"I set the alarm on my phone for one," he told Dean.

"Sounds good to me. Night, Sammy."

"Night."


	20. Candlelight Fright

**Author's Notes:** Gah, I fail at life. Sorry for not having posted this Sunday like I usually do. I started working more again since holiday season has officially started, and it got me all thrown off. I hope I didn't irritate any eager readers! I'll be posting chapter 21 on the regular schedule, so expect that this following Sunday. Anyway, here is chapter 20! And here are some notes for the reviewers:

_Dianne_ - Thanks for the compliments! I do agree--it's really sad what's happening in China (or was, since when I wrote this, it was...what, around the beginning of September, I think? My sense of time is so skewed nowadays!) with all the milk issues. I'm glad you found it to be a good connector of the story to real life, because that's what I was aiming for. I wanted things to have that sense of possibility and pull, and all that awesome stuff.

_Zane_: I know you're on vacation right now, so you won't read this until you get back, but thanks a bunch. ^^ After HP I was surprised we were able to find something we both enjoyed so much. But I think it's like you said, we sort of moved on...

* * *

Dean and Sam arrived in Oklahoma City just after ten o'clock that following morning. Both were hungry and feeling somewhat tired again, and, coupled with their need for some sort of base, they settled into an indiscreet motel just a mile or two down the off-ramp. Lilith would likely know they were coming if they tried to get too close. Plus, they needed to come up with a plan. They couldn't just go in there, eyes shut and guns blazing. If Lilith really was trying to break the seals to bring the horsemen to Earth, then she was going to have as many guards as possible on her.

Sam nearly collapsed the second that he and Dean stepped into their motel room. It was small, cramped, and barely had enough space for the two beds and dresser inside of it. But it worked, and sure enough, the bed was comfortable. That was all that mattered. He managed to set his alarm for a few hours ahead, so that he and Dean wouldn't sleep the afternoon away.

They woke up at two. Four hours of sleep was better than none. Both were slightly cranky, but when Dean mentioned he was going to go get them food, it washed everything clean. Sam, in the meantime, worked on setting up their arsenal. They had found an entire collection of pre-made shotgun cartridges full of salt at the lock-up, which would at least deter some of the demons long enough for the two Winchester boys to make their way through Lilith's barriers of defense.

Part of him wished that it could be like last time—that they could find the source of water in the neighborhood and bless it, then turn on the sprinklers or hoses. But he didn't think they would have that kind of luxury this time around. So, that was why Sam, after loading their guns, grabbed the trash bin, dumped out the bag, and began pouring water from the bathroom sink into it. He needed to bless enough for them to carry around for protection.

He was going to need to work on his powers, too, in order for things to work out for them. It had been a while since he had used them, particularly against a demon.

But that was for later.

He had just finished blessing the water when Dean came back, toting bags from a nearby Burger King. He set Sam's on the bed, then worked on opening up his whopper. "I got you a couple of those breakfast wraps. And a soda."

"Thanks."

Sam went to town on the food the second he had it out of the bag. He hadn't eaten in well over ten hours, and his stomach gave a low, needy growl. It wasn't the best food in the world, but it was food nonetheless. Sustenance. It filled him up surprisingly well.

Dean was silent until he finished eating. He crumbled up all of his wrappers and dropped them into the bag. "All right. So, looks like you were busy while I was gone. You got the shotgun cartridges…and looks like you got some holy water, too."

"Yeah. And we brought the Colt up, so we should be well prepared." He snorted. "There's at least eight gallons of holy water here. I grabbed our mega water gun from the trunk, too."

"Dunno if we'll be able to carry that with everything," Dean said, uncertain. "But with that much holy water, it might not be such a bad idea. Probably better at keeping them at bay than the shotgun cartridges would be."

"Heavier, though," Sam said.

Dean nodded.

A moment of silence followed. Then:

"I think I should use my powers."

That statement caused quiet to spread between them, during which Sam and Dean stared at each other. It was obvious that Dean didn't agree, but he was keeping silent, for reasons Sam was very much aware of. They had had this conversation before…and probably would many times in the future.

To Sam's surprise, Dean didn't argue. But, he also didn't necessarily agree. He just changed the subject. "I wanna say Lilith is probably not expecting us, but we gotta prepare for the worst. With any luck, we'll be able to blast in there and get one clean shot before she abandons her host."

The boys shared a look.

"…Fuck," Dean muttered. "I just realized we have no idea what she's gonna look like."

Sam shook his head. This put a kink in their plans. They couldn't just bang up every demon they saw with a bullet from the Colt. They didn't have that many. Not only that, it was stupid. Knowing their luck, Lilith would be hit last, and that would be _after_ she had abandoned her host. Then everything they had done up to that point would just piss her off, and make her work twice as hard.

The younger one bit his lip. "Maybe I can sense her."

Dean looked uncertain. "I dunno if it works that way."

Maybe Dean was right. After all, he hadn't been able to sense the demons in the bar that night they went out. And if any were in fact following them, he couldn't sense them, either.

They would be going in blind. Something felt horribly wrong with the fact, but it was all they had.

"We'll just have to hope we notice her before she notices us," Sam murmured. But it was hard to sound convincing when even he didn't believe it possible.

"Well, we'll arm ourselves to the teeth. If we're going down, we're taking a bunch of those bad ass mothers with us, too." Dean clapped his hands together and then went to gathering up the holy water in hipflasks for them to take along with them.

Even though Sam started working on gathering things up, too, he paused when a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Hey, Dean," he said.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Do you remember…after the fight in the police station, when Ruby gave us those bags?"

Dean's mouth opened slightly and he furrowed his brow as he recalled it. "Yeah…you mean the ones—"

"—to throw Lilith of our trail," they said in unison.

"Do we still have those?"

"I dunno," Dean said. "If we did they'd be in the trunk. Those'd be helpful."

"I'm gonna go check. I'll be back."

Once Sam was down in the parking lot, he rummaged through the trunk of the impala for the bags in question. With all the other crap back there it was hard to tell where anything was. And, he had to be careful not to expose anything, seeing as it was daylight outside and any passersby would likely catch a glimpse of their arsenal.

After searching for what felt like ever, he finally gave up. If they were in there, he couldn't find them. He could have sworn they still had them. He couldn't remember throwing them away or giving them to anyone. Not something that valuable.

Feeling a little disheartened, Sam went back to the room, where Dean had more or less gotten everything prepared for them. He told Dean, who just shrugged it off.

"Just gotta put it all in the bag and we can head out of here," he told him.

Sam swallowed. His heart was beating faster than usual. He could feel his blood pumping in his ears, too. He hadn't experienced this kind of nervousness since the fight in the bar.

This was going to be so many times worse.

. . .

Dean slowly pulled up to the point that Bobby had given them. Not surprisingly, it was a residential area on the outskirts of the town. It reminded them both of the house that Lilith had infiltrated back in New Harmony. Dean parked on the opposite side of the street, not yet getting out. He was scooping out the property.

The houses they were aiming for lined the outside of a semi-circle cul-de-sac on the other side of the street. All of the houses were quite nice—most were two stories tall. They had that small neighborhood appeal to them, complete with the freshly mowed lawns and the little trucks or vans in the driveways. Toys were strewn about the yards, anywhere from big wheels to beach balls. It looked like any other neighborhood.

But, Sam and Dean knew better. Evil was afoot.

They had waited until later that evening to approach the house. They needed the cover of twilight in order to do everything covertly. It was hard to hide a shotgun against your chest in the middle of broad daylight. Above them, the sun had mostly set in the west, and the stars and moon were beginning to take full control of the sky.

"All right, Sammy. It's now or never. Let's get that bitch."

Sam hopped outside the car along with Dean, who pocketed his keys. Both had guns in hand, and at least two flasks full of holy water with the caps slightly loose and ready to go. They were, as Dean had put it, armed to the teeth.

They approached the house in question from the side. Thankfully it was on the end of the left-hand side, which gave them less prying eyes and more ground to walk on. They could scope the house better without having to worry about paying attention to what happened behind them.

The house itself was set up on a foundation, which put them at a slight disadvantage. All of the windows were higher up and thus they couldn't see inside very well. Plus, not a single light illuminated the house. However, upon closer inspection, Sam caught a light emanating from the second story. It was faint—candlelight, from the looks of it. The window itself was smaller than usual and situated strangely in the layout of the home. He wondered if perhaps it wasn't an attic window.

Dean made a gesture with his head that read, "You take the back and I'll take the front". But Sam quickly shook his own head. He gestured with a nod toward the back door, then raised his eyebrows. He wanted them to go together, and Dean understood. He hesitated, but he understood.

One after the other, the Winchester boys wandered onto the back patio using the small wooden steps that extended into the vibrant green grass. The entire neighborhood was silent, save for the sound of the light breeze rustling in the trees around them and the crickets that were coming out to play. Dean made his way to the back door and gave it a gentle jerk. It was not locked. So, turning the handle, he carefully pushed the door inward and stepped inside, Sam following just a moment later. The younger one shut it behind them.

They entered the kitchen. On the linoleum floor lay two dead bodies—one woman and one man. Dean and Sam presumed them to be the original owners of the home. They were older, at least in their late forties, and both wore a look of sheer terror on their face. Lilith had recently killed them. And, according to the blood splattered all around the kitchen and the trail of guts spilled out onto the floor, it hadn't been pretty.

"Ugh," Sam muttered to himself as he passed them by. He felt horrible.

Dean and Sam found it strange that no demon was positioned downstairs. Surely she would have put at least one there, had she feared someone coming into the house. But maybe that was it. Maybe she didn't fear anyone coming in. Was Lilith getting cocky? Did she believe that Dean and Sam wouldn't catch on to her plan?

At the stairs, Dean made another "Let's go" gesture with his head. He held the shotgun out in front of him, waving it slowly from left to right as he went to the upper level. The stairs must have been in great shape—they didn't squeak in the slightest. It gave them that extra sense of security, which at that moment, Sam needed pretty badly.

When they made it to the second story, Dean stopped and held up his hand so that Sam stopped as well. They stood at the beginning of a long hallway that extended to their right. But something felt…off. And Sam barely had to give Dean a look before his brother nodded.

"Something's weird…" Sam said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Seriously," Dean agreed.

But, despite the strange feelings they had, they continued on. One by one they checked the rooms with no success, proving Sam's theory that the light was, in fact, coming from another floor. That was when he noticed the little trapdoor on the ceiling in the hallway that must have led to the attic. There was no _way_ they were getting up there without Lilith realizing it. Although, really, she should have caught on to them being in there already. The house was far too empty for its own good.

"Dean," Sam whispered. "Don't—I mean, just…well, don't, all right?"

Dean gave him an odd look, but Sam knew that he would have said something when he started using his powers had he not warned his brother ahead of time. The younger Winchester lifted his hand and pointed it toward the small tug-string that hung from the trapdoor. It shook for a moment before descending, along with the rest, revealing a staircase that unfolded toward the floor. The whole thing barely made any noise—much different than if they had done it with their hands.

From the top came the gentle glow of the candlelight.

"I'll go up there," Dean said.

"No," Sam said suddenly. "No…she can't hurt me, remember? Let me go first."

Even though he could see Dean's irritation, they both knew he was right. It was the reason why Sam moved to the stairs first. They creaked and groaned under his weight, but he figured it was too late to care right now. Lilith had no way of escaping now unless she left her host body. Sam, however, had a feeling that she wouldn't do that right away.

His heart pounded so harshly in his chest that he felt almost as if it were going to burst out of his throat. As more and more of the attic became visible, the harder his heart seemed to beat. Once he stepped onto the attic floor itself (he had to hunch slightly because the ceiling was arched), he paused and took a quick look around.

…He saw nothing.

This wasn't right, he told himself.

Something was wrong.

He walked further into the attic, moving toward the candle whose light he had seen outside. It stood alone on a small wooden end table. Just as Sam began to turn around, a sudden outcry came from Dean. He nearly spun in place.

There, in the near darkness, he could make out the form of his brother against the right-hand attic wall. Dean's neck was craned to the side, and a pained expression took over his face.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't little Sammykins."

Sam lifted his shotgun and pointed it directly in front of him. But he knew who that voice belonged to, even if he didn't recognize it itself. He knew that the shotgun wasn't going to do anything. Still, it was instinct. He slowly lowered the gun.

"Lilith."

From out of the shadows came a figure no taller than five-foot-five. She was thin, almost waif-like, with long blond hair that draped down to the small of her back. Her skin was pale and her face, round. Her eyes were originally white as a sheet of paper, but soon the white receded, and the brown of her irises appeared.

She had possessed the body of a young, teenage girl.

"Sam!" Dean grunted with effort. He struggled helplessly against the wall.

"Ah-ah!" Lilith waved her hand and the gun in Sam's hand flew across the attic toward Dean. It landed on the ground in a clatter. She smiled in a deceptively sweet manner. "No guns, Sammy. You know those are dangerous. And that holy water, too." She made grabbing motions with her hands, and from within the folds of Sam's jacket came the flasks, floating through the air until they landed in her palms. "I can't have you trying to hurt me."

Sam swallowed. Save for his powers, he was now completely disarmed. And he had no backup, since Lilith had Dean flat against the wall.

"Let Dean go," he ordered.

"Ah…no. I don't think so. I think he needs to stay _right_ where he is."

"Bitch!" Dean spat angrily.

"Oh, such a potty mouth."

Dean gave a loud cry then, and Sam realized that Lilith was crushing him psychically. With a low, nearly growling tone, he yelled, "Stop it!"

Dean's body slacked and he crumbled to the ground, panting heavily and clutching at his stomach. Sam started to move toward him when he heard Lilith say, "No no, Sammy! This is just between you and me."

But Sam knew that she couldn't hurt him. She couldn't use her powers against him—they were useless. He turned to face her, saying, "Oh yeah? What're you gonna do if—" he stopped suddenly. A familiar knife's edge glimmered in the faint candlelight.

"Now, I don't want to have to hurt you _too_ much, Sam. But if you don't play nice, then I'll have to." She pointed the knife at him. "You move away from your brother!"

For some reason, Sam felt paralyzed. They had been right. Lilith had Ruby's knife.

Slowly, he backed away from Dean, brow furrowed in concern.

"I was wondering what time you two would get here," Lilith said. She sounded curious.

Sam cocked his head just slightly. "What do you mean, you wondered?"

"Oh, this? You can't tell me you didn't know this was a trap." Her voice was almost saccharine sweet. She clapped her hands together and smiled wide. From within the deep shadows of the other end of the attic appeared several humans—or at least, what appeared to be humans. Sam knew instantly that they were other demons.

"I'm not stupid, Sammy!" Lilith tutted. "I know what you've been up to this entire time, silly. You can't possibly think that I wouldn't keep tabs on you."

"I didn't think you knew how," Sam muttered darkly. But, with more resolve, he said, "After all, you're going around killing innocent people and having way too much fun doing it. Plus, you've been all over the country. The world, maybe, even. Thought you might be too busy. Tell me, have you broken any other seals yet?"

A look of surprise appeared on Lilith's face. She blinked almost innocently. Had it been anyone but her, Sam would have believed it. "Whatever do you mean, Sammy?"

"Don't play stupid, you bitch," Dean grumbled from the floor.

One of the nearby demons came close, and with superhuman strength lifted Dean right up and off the ground. Sam moved to grab him, but Lilith snapped her fingers and one of the guns went off from the floor. The bullets hit the taller hunter square in the shoulder and he stumbled back, falling onto the floor from both the impact and the shock.

"Fuck!"

"_SAM_!" Dean shouted. He gave another drawn out shout when the demon holding him tightened her grip on his arms and dug her nails into his forearms.

Lilith approached Sam, now twirling Ruby's knife in her hand. She looked deceptively weak. It was frightening. Then, she knelt down beside him, but made no motion to stab him quite yet.

"Sammy, you should know by now that I can control my powers _way_ better than you know how to control yours. Or…did that bad little girl Ruby not teach you well enough? She's always doing jobs half-assed." Lilith giggled then. It was sick. It sounded terribly unnatural. But then, it _wasn't _natural. "Oops, I cursed!"

"Shut up," Sam said through gritted teeth. The pain wasn't nearly as bad as being shot with an actual bullet, but his body reacted just the same; the endorphins coursing through him to ease the pain made him feel light-headed and a little dizzy.

Lilith reached out then and patted Sam's injured shoulder. He cried out softly at first, but as her pressure increased, so did the tone of his cry, until he was nearly sobbing. He swallowed harshly, refusing to let her see tears of pain come from his eyes.

"You've been a really bad thorn in my side for some time, now," Lilith said. Contempt dripped off her words. "And I'm gonna have to get rid of you now. Too bad. You're so cute!" She raised the blade above her head, about to stab him.

"NO! SAM!" Dean yelled.

To everyone's surprise, the room suddenly fell silent. Sam had mustered up all the strength he could, and using his power, he sent the knife flying out of Lilith's hand and right into the forehead of the demon that was holding his brother hostage. The dark haired demon began to seizure and sputter as the knife dispelled her, and her host's skin crackled like a livewire until it finally fell to the ground, the demon shooting through the roof immediately afterward.

Dean, too, fell to the ground, with a thud.

"Back off, Lilith," Sam growled. He shoved his hand into her chest and watched as his power sent her flying across the room. She screamed the entire way and collided with the larger of the two male demons.

This sudden effort of his power had made him feel even sicker—he couldn't keep from panting roughly. But, that didn't stop him from beginning to chant the exorcism ritual he knew. He got only two words in before a horrific scream filled the attic.

Lilith was abandoning her host body.

Nonetheless, Sam picked up the chant anew. There were still several demons in the room, and as he chanted, they froze in place, now trapped. Soon they, too, were expelled from their host bodies, disappearing through the roof and into the black night above them.

By the end of it Sam felt almost delirious. He hadn't felt this kind of pain in a long time, and it was obvious that his defenses had weakened considerably. "Dean," he murmured. He said his brother's name once more, but a little louder.

"I'm coming, Sam."

Dean's voice sounded stronger than his own. He could feel the weight of his brother's footsteps against the wooden attic floor. Soon he was lifted into a seated position, after which he leaned into the other's embrace.

"Fuck, Dean, she hit me square in the shoulder," Sam groaned.

Dean unbuttoned the top few buttons of Sam's shirt so that he could pull it over his shoulder and reveal the wound. Both cartridges were still inside his flesh, nestled deep within. When the time came for Sam to move his arm, he gave a weak grunt.

It hurt, badly.

"Come on, we gotta get you back to the car so I can pull those out of you," Dean said.

When the older Winchester helped him to his feet, Sam noticed long, red lines of blood decorating Dean's skin. "Ugh, what did that demon do to you?"

"Scratched me." Dean smarted, gritting his teeth for a moment. "And _not_ in the way I like it."

That joke alleviated the severity of the situation just a little. Though he was still in quite a lot of pain, Sam felt more levelheaded now that he was standing and his body was moving. The adrenaline and the endorphins were working through his system, so the dizziness faded away.

They were just about to go down the ladder to the main floor when Sam paused. "Wait, Dean. Ruby's knife." He pointed with his good arm to the demon that he had killed with it.

Dean walked over to the knife and quickly tore it from the woman's head with a sickening squishing sound. He wiped it clean with the sleeve of her jacket, then pocketed it in his own. "All ours again," he said. He went over to Sam and guided him down the stairs.

Lilith had run away. But they had her on the run now. And she had lost Ruby's knife. This put her at a slight disadvantage. Now, though, she knew partially what Sam was capable of with his powers. And the next time, she would surely be better prepared. They were going to have to hit her hard and fast if they wanted this to go smoothly. One of the seals had already broken. They couldn't have her breaking another.


	21. The Honeycombs

**Author's Notes: **We're definitely winding down to the end...! I had to re-read this chapter and remind myself of all that happened. Keep in mind that this chapter was written before season 4, so what happens is my own personal interpretation. Something that happens in here was later debunked by an episode of SPN in season 4. But you'll see what I mean when it happens. At any rate, please enjoy, and lemme know what you think in a review :D

Also Dianne, the squirt gun with holy water totally seemed like something they'd have...I dunno why, but I just had to put it in!

* * *

They had failed. Lilith had set up a trap for them, and they had walked right into it. There was nothing else to it than that. It was very simple.

Dean and Sam had both felt crappy when they returned to their hotel room that night. Dean had extracted and cleaned out his brother's wound in silence, save for the occasional grunt of effort that came with keeping Sam from responding physically to the pain. But, eventually the painkillers got to him and the larger hunter had fallen asleep. The older one followed suit shortly after calling Bobby and updating him on what happened.

Sam was the first to wake up. His painkillers—the joyous Advil—had worn off, and his shoulder throbbed in reminder of what had been inside of him not too long ago. He was a little delirious. He couldn't piece together a coherent thought for the life of him, at least outside of just how much pain he was in. He didn't bother waking up Dean. Not for painkillers. Those he could get himself.

Though it took more effort than he would have liked, Sam popped the top of the bottle, plopped two pills into his hand, and then swallowed them with a quick swig from the glass of water he had poured just a few moments previous. They wouldn't work right off the bat, he knew. So, he returned to his bed and propped up his pillows so that he could turn on the television and rest a little while listening to it.

It was somewhere around three in the morning. Nothing but infomercials reigned supreme on TV. He ended up choosing one for some Philosophy face product line, if only because the woman who was featuring the products caught his attention. Her voice was nice, calm, and soothing. It reminded him somewhat of Sarah's.

Sam closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain that pulsed through his shoulder.

"And for people who like our Hope in a Jar, we'll be coming out with a new product soon called Divine Illumination. It's similar in texture but the benefits are far, far more numerous…"

Sam had absolutely no idea what the woman was talking about, but she sounded nice while doing so. He heaved a heavy sigh.

Suddenly Lilith's face—or rather, the face of the girl she had possessed—entered his mind's eye. She looked sinister, yet equally child-like. It was sick and twisted. How she had outsmarted them like that, she didn't know. The fact that she had somehow managed to do so worried him. Then again, she had done it before. Dealing with her was like dealing with some malevolent, youthful force that played around with you before it tried to annihilate you.

"God," he muttered.

The woman on television droned on in her soothing voice: "…and yes, yes it can! I'm glad you asked. The Divine Illumination face cream can be used during both night _and_ day. This versatility is what's going to appeal to women most…"

Sam wondered what Sarah was doing right then and there. He wondered if she was sleeping. Then a more coherent part of his mind told him that yes, of course she was. It was early morning. Why wouldn't she be?

His thoughts continued to drift over several different topics after that. He thought about himself, about Dean, and about Lilith some more, then back to the face cream on television, before going back to Lilith. Eventually the meds kicked in. That, and he felt tiredness overwhelming his mind. But for some reason, he couldn't fall asleep. It was almost as if something were stopping him.

Then, Sam felt a sudden burst of clarity. He opened his eyes. They weren't going to catch Lilith by chasing her down. No, they needed to ambush her. And in order to ambush her, they were going to need to find the location of the next seal she was going after.

Another burst of clarity hit him. His mouth hung partially open as his brain connected the dots. In his dream, he had been in a very hot, very dry desert. Salt Lake City—and a good portion of Utah—was in that kind of climate. And he had seen the Horseman of Pestilence and Conquest there. Shortly after, he heard the news of the breakout in China. Where he had been in his dream had to be the spot where Lilith had freed the horseman.

But how was he supposed to find the location of the other seals? Could he force himself to have another premonition? He doubted it. No, he would need to let it come on its own time. They had done right by him up until then, even if he hadn't always interpreted them perfectly right off the bat. He couldn't wait, however, for it to announce that she had let another go. They needed to ambush her!

Again, his mind asked: but how?

Sam groaned. He obviously wasn't getting to sleep any time soon. Not now that these kinds of thoughts raced through his head. He exerted himself in leaning down over the bed to snatch up his laptop from the floor with his good arm. He opened it and turned it on after setting it in his lap. That rock formation was all he had to go off of. With any luck, he could find another one within the United States that was just like it. And with any luck _there_, he could set up an ambush for Lilith that would ultimately lead to her downfall.

About halfway through his search, Sam fell asleep. His exhaustion and the meds hit him pretty hard after a while, and he conked out. It was only after Dean began gently shaking him that Sam stirred again that morning, sometime around seven.

"Sam?" Dean asked.

"Yeah?" Sam rubbed at his eye tiredly.

"You all right? Couldn't sleep?"

"No, couldn't. And yeah, m'fine." He yawned. His body was stiff—particularly his back, due to the way he had slept. He watched Dean head into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Soon thereafter he heard the shower start.

Sam looked down at his laptop. Its screen was blank, but the power light was blinking. It had just gone into hibernation. Giving the touch pad a gentle nudge and his enter key a tap, the laptop booted back up to life again. The screen flooded with images of rock formations in sandy deserts, expansive forests and even along the coasts. Sam had about fifteen tabs open in his Safari browser, each one retelling the story of the rock formations that he was looking at.

It took him a minute to remember why he was searching for all these rock formations. When it hit him, he started right back up again, albeit slower than before. He was halfway in the middle of reading a story about some large formation in Oregon called 'The Honeycombs'. By far it bared the most resemblance to the rock formation he had seen in his dream not too long ago. Of course, his memory was a little fuzzy. But like the rocks in his dream, he was oddly drawn to these ones.

Dean came out of the bathroom about ten minutes after having gone in. Like usual, he dressed and tossed his dirty clothes in his bag. He approached Sam's bed and took a seat on the nightstand beside it.

"So what're you lookin' at?"

"Rock formations," Sam said.

"…Uh huh. Why?"

"Because we've got to ambush Lilith before she releases the next horseman, and I think this is how."

At first, Dean had his mouth open, like he wanted to say something. But then he seemed to decide against it, because soon he closed it and brought a hand toward his face. He tugged on his lips for a moment.

"All right, I'll bite." he said. "I don't get it. What do rock formations have to do with us ambushing Lilith?"

Sam swallowed. "You remember that dream I had? With the horseman?" Dean nodded. "I think that in it, I was in Salt Lake City. Or maybe not Salt Lake exactly, but the desert area around it, or something. And I saw this rock formation. I…can't really describe it. I just felt drawn to them. Like they had something powerful there."

Dean caught on quickly. "So now you're trying to find any other peculiar rock formations you think might lead us to the location of the next seal?"

"Yeah."

Dean gave a considering look. "Not bad, Sam. I'm surprised you came up with it while drugged up. Speaking of which, you feeling better?"

"Sorta," Sam said. The throbbing pain in his shoulder had lessened to a more nagging, constant one. But it was less noticeable than before. He gave a ginger rotation of the joint. It stung immediately, and he hissed in a breath. "Fuck."

"Lemme get you some more medicine. Hang on."

Dean disappeared into the bathroom and a moment later came out with a glass of water and two more painkillers. Sam took them. He sighed afterward.

"There's this one I had just found before I must have fallen asleep," he began explaining. "It's in Oregon. It's called The Honeycombs. I dunno why, but it gives me that same feeling as the rocks in my dream did. I've looked at about a dozen others, and nothing. But this one…"

He turned the laptop in his lap so that Dean could get a better look. The older hunter nodded a few times, though faintly, as if he were putting it all together. After a minute, he cleared his throat. "You _sure_ about these ones, Sam? Oregon's a long drive from here. We should check in with Bobby again and see where she's headed."

"I'm sure," Sam said suddenly, but with conviction. He stared at the image on the screen.

Something drew him to them, just like in his dream. He had to trust it. He had to listen to it.

And it really meant something to him when Dean said, without a question, "Let's get going."

. . .

"You're sure, Bobby?"

"Sure as sure can be. She's nowhere near Oregon yet. She's hangin' out over in Maryland right now."

Sam listened with slight concern as Dean conversed with their friend. It had been several days now, and Lilith had still not come to Oregon as Sam thought she would. They were staying in some shack-of-a-motel in Malheur County near The Honeycombs, and it was obvious that Dean was getting antsy.

"Where was she before again?" he asked tersely.

"Saw her runnin' around in Texas a day ago. She's all over the damn place."

For what felt like the millionth time, Sam defended himself by saying, "We probably spooked her back in Oklahoma, so she's trying to throw us off her tracks."

Dean quickly hushed him with a look that was far from polite. It made Sam frown, and he looked away from his brother almost petulantly. Sam knew he was right about this. He just knew it. Of course, they hadn't found anything in their search of The Honeycombs, but that didn't mean that it wasn't there. Their eyes had fooled them before, and on several occasions. Sam remained entirely convinced.

It was just keeping Dean the same that was difficult.

"Thanks, Bobby. Appreciate it. We'll let you know what happens."

When Dean hung up the phone, he gave a short, irritated sigh.

"I—" Sam began.

"No, you know, Sam, just…no. You're probably right. But I'm irritable, I'm tired, and I'm hungry. We've been stuck in this hellhole of a place for what, three, four days now? I'd really just like Lilith to get her ass here and let us destroy her."

Sam knew part of Dean's anger was over the fact that they had to take a boat to cross the Owyhee Lake to get to The Honeycombs. He couldn't drive the impala over there. Without the car and without their arsenal, he felt like he was at a disadvantage.

The younger hunter remained quiet for a minute while Dean paced back and forth in the room. He was clearly thinking of a plan. But Sam had one already forming in his head.

"Dean, I have a really strong feeling that she's gonna come tonight," he said.

The look his brother gave him was easily readable. Though Dean said nothing, he didn't have to. His expression did it for him. It was sheer incredulity, as if he didn't believe Sam at all. Had he spoken, Sam was sure it would have been something like, "You have a _feeling_? You have a _feeling_ she'll come tonight? Oh, sure, let's base it all on a feeling!"

But he said nothing, because he had believed Sam when he said what he did before about the rock formations. And he wasn't going to be made to look like a fool for having done that.

Plus, Sam knew that deep down, Dean did believe him. It was one of the main reasons he had stopped himself from speaking.

Dean looked down. "Then we're going out there."

. . .

As the sun set over the horizon of The Honeycombs, Sam covered the last of the Devil's Trap beneath the brush that he and Dean had collected around the area. It had taken them about twice times as long to hide it as it had to make it. But the trap would help keep the demons in when they came toward what Sam could only assume was the object that Lilith was looking for.

He had overlooked it the first time they had checked the place out. It wasn't anything much, just a tree stump surrounded by little saplings and some fronds. But this time around, he had taken the time to brush the fronds away from the stump. Instead of having ringlets denoting the age of the tree that had been cut down, there was a very strange shape that Sam later identified to be a religious mark. And in the middle of the religious mark was one that had come to be known as "the seal".

It was hidden plain as day. Anybody could have stumbled across it. At first, Sam didn't understand why it was so obvious. But when Dean mentioned that he couldn't see what Sam was talking about, even after the younger hunter had shown him specifically, he realized that it was shielded from the eyes of those who either didn't believe, or those who had no supernatural blood within them. He couldn't be sure, of course, but if anybody should have been able to see it, it was Dean. That he couldn't was curious.

Now Sam was sure that they were in the right place. Evening had given way to night, and the only sounds that filled their ears were those of nature: the water flowing in the lake nearby, the birds in the trees, the crickets hiding in the flora. He and Dean chose to hide behind some particularly bushy shrubs that surrounded a tree near the trunk in question.

Fortunately for them, they didn't have to wait long.

The beautifully sparkling stars above seemed to extinguish all at once. But both hunters knew that it was only the swirling black clouds of demon smoke that had done it. Funnels shot toward the ground, and they formed into several shapes: three women, and one individual who looked younger than the rest. Lilith had yet again chosen a little girl's form.

That didn't sit well with Sam.

He and Dean had apparently gone unnoticed. Lilith, now inhabiting the body of a girl no older than ten, with short, curly black hair and olive colored skin, turned to address the group. Her voice was dainty, but her words were not.

"Tonight we have come to release one more of our brethren to unleash Hell upon the surface of the Earth!" She clapped her hands together, as if cheering for herself. "With the Winchesters out of the picture trying to chase down my trail, I can recover here for a few hours after I break the bonds that bind him. That's where you all come in. Keep an eye out. Kill any creature that approaches me. Even if it's a cute little bunny." She lowered her head slightly. "Got it?"

All the demons stood on bended knee for a moment as they nodded their heads.

"Good!" Lilith turned around, facing the nearby trunk.

Sam felt his heart pounding in his throat. It was a good thing he hadn't eaten in a while. He would have been sick all over the tree. This wasn't just some piddly spirit or malevolent beast they were dealing with. This was one of the foulest, evilest beings on the face of the Earth. The future of the planet rested on whether or not they could kill her right then and there.

_Fool me once, shame on you_, Sam thought. _Fool me twice, shame on me_.

That was true for Lilith, of course, and not them. They wouldn't get another chance like this, and he knew it. Last time had been a fluke. Lilith had set a trap for them. Now, the trap was set for her.

They had designed the Devil's Trap to be about forty feet in diameter around the log. But, they hadn't planned on those other demons being there. And of course, there was no way of killing them without risking Lilith trying to run away. Their Devil's Traps had been broken before by lesser demons. This one wouldn't hold her for long.

Dean and Sam looked at each other. An unspoken agreement was made between them. Sam would go after Lilith and Dean would go after the demons using Ruby's knife. It would be a massacre, him going up against three demons on his own, but Sam knew that his brother could handle it. If anyone could, it was him. Especially now. It would do him some good.

They couldn't wait any longer. Lilith had begun the ritual, and the magic that began to emanate from both her and the trunk would eventually do its job.

"Now!" Dean hissed.

The two hunters shot out from behind the tree and shrubs like bats out of Hell. Sam jumped right into the Devil's Trap with Lilith, who didn't seem to realize he was there. Meanwhile, outside, Dean had already gutted one of the demons, having caught her off guard.

But soon everything changed.

The magic bond between Lilith and the seal broke suddenly. Right after, her eyes went white and she stuck her hand out. But nothing came from Sam, because he wasn't carrying anything as a weapon. She looked almost surprised.

"Sammy! How did you—"

He cut her off by lifting a bag from his pocket. It was the hex bag that Ruby had given him to throw Lilith off their trail all those months ago. Sam had furiously checked the trunk of the impala before they left Oklahoma City, having sworn up and down that they still had them. And surprisingly, they were in a very obvious place. Part of him wondered if they hadn't been placed there by happenstance, because they sure as hell hadn't been there when he looked before.

But that pouch alone was enough to give him and his brother an advantage, because Dean was carrying his, too.

Lilith shouted obscenities that sounded completely wrong coming from the mouth of a little girl. Sam yelled at her to shut up, and when she did, she telekinetically stole the bag from him, crushing it in midair with her gaze.

"That bag won't help you now, Sammy. It won't help you defeat me."

Sam chanced a brief glance outside the trap. There, Dean was partially trapped in the arms of one of the demons, while he kicked at the other with the tips of his boots. He was growling and cursing profanely, but he was alive. So, Sam turned his attention back to Lilith.

"You're going down, Lilith. Tonight."

Lilith attempted to jump back, but the power of the trap ensnared her, and she stumbled to the ground, dazed momentarily. Sam took this opportunity to use his power to pick her up and send her flying across the trap. He couldn't tell where it ended, however—the night sky above may have been bright with the moon and stars, but it was nothing like daylight.

Sam went after her in a jog. He was well within a few feet of her by the time she got up.

"Looks like little Sammy wants to play! And look, he's made us a playpen, too!"

Lilith slowly began to raise her arms up. In doing so, she caused the ground beneath them to rumble and shake. Sam could tell she was attempting to break the trap. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself lowering her arms. He made the motion with his hands. To his surprise, it worked. The ground stopped shaking and Lilith—looking spooked—had her arms lowered at her sides.

"Better than I thought," was all that came out of her before she shot at him with inhuman speed.

Sam fell back onto the ground and immediately felt a loss of air. Lilith knew her powers were useless against him, and so she was going for the physical approach. Though she was in a young girl's body, she was supernaturally charged, and her grip was nearly deadly. Sam started choking, large hands gripping at Lilith's thin arms to get her to release him.

"You're gonna die, Sammy," she said in a singsong voice. "Die, die, die!"

_Not if I can help it_, he thought.

Despite the pain that shot through his injured shoulder—why was he noticing it now, of all times?—Sam closed his eyes and expelled Lilith from atop him. She went flying into the air with a scream and landed a few yards away. The young hunter scrambled to his feet, coughing violently as he gulped down breaths of air.

"SAM!" Dean shouted suddenly.

Sam heard the horrific squish of flesh being punctured, and then the crackling sound of lightning. When he looked to the side he saw that Dean had killed another demon with the knife. However, he was bleeding profusely from a cut that ran along the side of his head and his entire right sleeve had been torn off. Blood poured down his arm from a gash that one of the demons must have inflicted.

Though he wanted to help Dean badly, Sam knew that his brother would never forgive him if he let Lilith get away. He just wouldn't. And Sam could never forgive himself.

He turned his attention back to Lilith, who wore a look of complete contempt on her face. Her white eyes seemed to harden as she once again lifted her arms, giving a shrill shriek. The second the ground started to shake Sam disabled her, which sent her flying into a rage. This time, however, Sam was prepared. Right as Lilith came for him, Sam stuck his hand out, and she froze in place.

But she fought hard. Sam had never felt such force before. Lilith writhed and twisted in his telekinetic grasp, fighting him with every last ounce of strength she had. He held her, however, with as tight a grip as he could. The sound of pierced flesh once again entered his ears. Dean had killed the final demon guarding Lilith. He wanted to look—God, he wanted to look so bad—but he knew breaking concentration would break his hold.

"Dean, NOW!" Sam shouted. "Stab her with the knife, now!"

Out of the corner of his eye, the younger hunter watched as his brother stumbled toward the floating and raging Lilith. She nearly broke free, but Sam focused with all his might, grunting and breathing labored breaths as he kept his ground.

And then, in a flash, it was over. Sam could see Dean behind Lilith and saw the way her body jerked forward when he stabbed her in the back with Ruby's knife. Immediately he felt her fighting force slack, her life force weaken. Lilith went nearly limp in his grip for a moment before she began to convulse wildly. Her skin cracked and took on the appearance of a broken shell, as the demon inside was expelled. The child's mouth opened and from it came the largest, most powerful tendril of black smoke that Sam and Dean had ever seen. It was tainted with hints of white and gold, and it poured right down into the ground, as if pulled toward it.

When it was gone completely the little girl went completely limp, and she fell into Dean's arms.

Sam didn't even feel the tears running down his cheeks until he felt them in his mouth. Dean was crying, too, but he didn't seem to notice, either. The little girl now lay lifeless in the older one's grasp. An innocent victim in a fight of which she should have never been a part.

What they did next, neither of them was proud of. They took their boat back across the lake and they lay the little girl's body down near the little lake house where they had stolen the boat from. Someone would find her in the morning.

And by then, they would be long gone.


	22. New Paltz

**Author's Notes: **All righty everyone. This is the last chapter of the story. It's kind of surreal for me to be posting it! And at the same time, it's kind of amusing, too, since I've had it done for so long...but I didn't want to post it all at once. I wanted to keep a little suspense going on, after all. ;) I wanted to thank everyone for their positive, insightful reviews and thoughts about the story. I originally wrote this just to pass the time during the summer and to give myself some creative license over how season four in my head would have gone. Who'd have thought I'd have hit some of the same themes? That made me laugh. For what it's worth, I really, really enjoy this story. This is the longest story I've _ever_ written, so there's a lot of blood, sweat and tears, to put it figuratively, in it! It's like my little kid. 3

I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as the rest. Please let me know what you think of the end! This chapter is a little shorter than the rest, but I figured it would be better to have it succinct than drag on and on.

Cheers, everyone! If crossovers and slash are your kind of thing, I've got another SPN Fic going on, one intermixed with Charmed. You can find it on my profile page. :) Hope to see some other familiar faces over there too!

* * *

Lilith was gone.

Lilith was _gone_.

It had taken a while for that fact to sink in to both Dean and Sam's heads. The monster they had been fighting nearly a year now was completely out of the picture. Dead. Never coming back.

Okay, maybe never _never_ coming back, but if she did, it wouldn't be for an awfully long time. And if she did, and they were still around, there would be no need to fear. They had taken her down once. They knew they could do it again.

The drive out of Oregon was filled with celebratory hoots and hollers, somewhat uncharacteristic of Sam but perfectly normal for Dean. They drove down the highway in good spirits while playing loud music. Their moods couldn't have been better.

Their first destination was Bobby's. Both wanted to tell him in person that Lilith was gone instead of over the phone. The drive had taken a while, about two days, with a few pit stops. When they showed up on his front doorstep, Bobby seemed almost mortified.

"Boys?" he asked. "What're you doin' here?"

"We did it!" Dean shouted then. He hooted once more and then began laughing.

The three of them joined in brief, congratulatory hugs before Bobby invited them into the house for a drink.

Never before had a beer tasted so good in Sam's mind.

Even after Dean recounted the story for Bobby, the older hunter didn't seem to believe it. Sam knew why, too. He knew that it was his dreams that were making it hard for Bobby to understand—that his _powers_ were hard to understand. And he got that. It soured things a little.

But Bobby didn't dissent them, or show any kind of negativity toward them. Perhaps it was because they had ultimately been what had saved the day, along with Sam and Dean's ingenuity. Without his powers, everything would have been impossible. Not only that, but Dean wouldn't have been sitting there beside them at that very moment if it hadn't been for them.

Although Bobby invited them to stay a night or two to catch up, Sam and Dean were on a mission. They were heading back east, and there was every reason in the world to get back into the impala so they could continue their journey.

They said their goodbyes to Bobby and headed back on the road sometime later that afternoon. They drove for quite some time before they had to stop again—this time, however, it was because of the car. It had been under a lot of stress with all the driving it had endured over the past few weeks—months, really—and it wasn't surprising that it needed some TLC—TLC that Sam had unfortunately forgotten to give it.

So, Dean and Sam stopped over in Wyoming in order to give the impala the attention that it deserved.

It was around five o'clock in the afternoon when they arrived in the town of Lusk. It wasn't anything special—the welcome sign had said the town's population was about 1500—and as such, Dean and Sam weren't expecting miracles. But, there were a few nice places on their way though, including a motel they decided to shack up in for the night.

When they pulled into the parking lot, Dean parked the car and got out, telling Sam to go and check out a room for them while he got busy working on the car. They had stopped just a few hours previous to get something to eat, so both were all right on that front. But after a while, Sam figured he would go and get Dean some food. He always got hungry when working on the car.

Sam was surprised at how cheap the rooms were. He had expected the going price to be a mistake on the board outside, but it was true—they could rent a room here for nearly a quarter of what they paid for one in New York. This wasn't a huge shock, but still, it was nice. Less law-breaking credit debt, he thought. This was good for his karma.

After yelling down to Dean what their room number was, Sam headed inside. The room was about as spacious as one could expect from a motel. The two twin beds against the wall opposite him were separated by a nightstand—classic motel motif. To the left was the bathroom, which looked dinky. And to his direct left was the wall that separated the inside from the outside, against which rested the stand with the television on it. While the place was certainly nothing special, it still felt nice. That might have been because he was still riding the wave of their deed, however.

Sam headed into the bathroom to wash his face of the grime and sweat from sitting in the impala for hours on end in the blazing summer sun. The room was nightmarishly hot, something he hadn't noticed right off the bat. That was definitely one thing that would bother him through the night. It had no air conditioner, either. What he wouldn't have given to trade that television for some A/C.

He came back into the room, only to find that he wasn't alone.

Ruby sat on the bed that he had intended on taking a nap upon.

"What—" he began.

She turned to look at him. Her expression was hard to read—somewhere between indignation and amusement. "So were you ever gonna summon me and tell me that you, uh, you know, defeated Lilith?"

"I'm still computing it, myself," Sam said.

Ruby stood, and then slowly clapped a few times. It scared him sometimes how quickly her demeanor could shift. "Well, congratulations, Sam. This is a big step. You've just knocked out the baddest bitch this side of the Mississippi."

Sam snorted. He hadn't expected her to say something like that. In fact, it seemed sort of odd. "Thanks. With any luck, she'll stay dead."

"We can cross our fingers," Ruby said dryly.

_There's the Ruby I know_, Sam thought.

"You do know Dean's downstairs, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

"He didn't see you?"

"No. You know, your brother's sharp as a tack sometimes, but when it comes to that car, it's like the rest of the world is dead to him. I walked right by and he didn't even say anything."

Sam shook his head. Ruby had a point, but for some reason, he didn't want to admit it. "I've got a feeling you're here for other reasons, too."

"Ouch, Sam. That hurts." An amused smirk appeared on her face. "But, you're right. I did come for another reason. I know that you've got my knife, and that you took it from Lilith."

"And you'd like it back."

"Yeah, that's the gist of it."

"It's in the car," Sam said. "So you'll have to go down and get it, yourself."

That seemed to offend her. "Can't you go get it?"

"Why don't you want to?" Sam asked in a suddenly petulant tone.

He hadn't expected Ruby's backlash. "In case you don't remember, Sam, your brother was the one who put me in that stupid Devil's Trap in the first place all those months ago, _and_ he was the one who stole my knife. Not to mention on nearly every chance he's had, he treats me like total crap. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't want to talk to your excuse for an older brother."

That sobered Sam up a little. He pursed his lips. Then, "…Hang on."

He went down to the car where Dean was working and greeted his brother, who gave him a noncommittal grunt in response. Sam barely had to search for Ruby's knife. When he found it, he slipped it into the folds of his jacket. He also grabbed their clothing bag, which he had actually forgotten to bring up. It had all worked out perfectly.

Upon his return to the motel room, Ruby was standing with her back to the door. Sam shut it and she turned around, arms folded over her chest. He set down the clothing bag, retrieved the knife and then extended it—handle outward—for her to take. She nearly snatched it from his hands.

"Hey, watch it," he muttered.

"Thanks."

Although to Sam, she didn't sound sincere in the slightest.

He was getting annoyed. "Well, you've got what you came for. What you wanted. So you probably have places to go and people to see."

Ruby stood there silently for a moment, just eying Sam. It made him slightly uncomfortable. What was she doing that for?

"You're right," she said. She nodded curtly. "I've got a lot of stuff to do, and now that I've got my knife back, I can get back to it."

Now the silence fell over both of them. Sam didn't know what to say, and Ruby wasn't leaving. Part of him wanted to ask her where she was going, what she would be doing, but he stopped himself. Did he really want to know? Especially after what he had found out about her—as well as himself—over the last few months? It just didn't seem like a smart idea. Still, curiosity bubbled up.

"I guess this is good-bye for now?" he settled on saying.

"Something like that," Ruby said.

When she walked past him, Sam felt an odd tug at the muscles in his body. Almost like he shouldn't let her go. But there was no reason for him to feel that way. She wanted to leave, and he knew that he wanted her to, as well.

But not before he said something.

Reaching out, Sam gripped Ruby's arm. She stiffened immediately, turning her gaze on him.

"Thank you," he said to her. "Thank you for…all of it. Everything."

Ruby remained quiet for a minute, her lips pursed and her eyes hard. But they softened slightly after a while, and she nodded. She said quietly, "Anything to stop hell on Earth."

After seeing her reaction, Sam figured it was more than that. But he let it go. He let _her_ go. Maybe before. Maybe something could have happened. Now it was too late, and Sam didn't want it. Maybe Ruby didn't, either. He didn't know.

He watched her take her leave, walking right out into the parking lot seemingly without a care in the world. He knew better, of course. But he would never say a word. Dean would never know. Sarah would never know. Just him and Ruby. A secret. Like this whole thing had been in the first place, until everyone got involved.

Someday, he was going to figure out how to repay her, he decided.

. . .

"God _damn_, feels like we were just here."

Sam ignored Dean's comment as they pulled into the parking lot of the Super 8 Hotel in New Paltz. It _did _feel like they had just been there. But that was the truth. About two weeks ago, this was exactly where they had been.

And now they were back.

Why Dean had decided to do this, Sam didn't know. It was another one of those things he just didn't want to question. He knew his brother wanted him to be happy—wanted him to have as normal of a life as he could, even despite their wonderful abnormal lifestyle. It had been an unspoken thing. This was the destination Dean had had in mind right from their leaving Oregon. And Sam had gone right along with it. He wanted it.

It was their mission to enjoy themselves.

And for once, it was a time that Sam wouldn't hesitate to participate in.

They were unfortunately met with a familiar face upon their arrival: the woman who had checked them in the last time they stayed at the Super 8. It took them both a moment of thinking before Dean, always quick on his feet, recalled with card he had used to check in, and under which name. The woman showed no signs of suspicion and ran the card as she had the last time, giving them their room key.

Oddly enough, it was the same room they had stayed in before. Maybe it was just a joke on her part. Or maybe she had thought it sentimental. Whatever the reason was, the two went up to their room and shut the door behind them.

For a while, neither said anything. Sam stepped outside into the hallway to call Sarah and let her know that he was in town with good news and that he wanted to see her. Meanwhile, inside, Dean was gathering information off of Sam's laptop of places to check out in the city. Sam caught him in the act when he came back into the room. He didn't mind, of course. He just laughed about it.

It was nearing sunset. Outside, Sam could see the bright rays of the sun beginning to dwindle in the cloudless sky. He had told Sarah he would be over soon, and that all he needed to do was figure things out before he headed over there.

When the time came for him to leave, Sam noticed the way that Dean was fidgeting with something in the bathroom. He couldn't see what it was.

Neither of them had really talked about what was going to happen now that Lilith was gone. There were still plenty of demons and malevolent spirits and creatures in the world to hunt, but at that moment, the hunting life seemed very distant to Sam. And in a strange way, it made Dean seem far away from him, too.

He approached his brother in the bathroom.

"You know," Dean began, "I never understood why they make these things so small. How the hell is anyone supposed to wash with these?" It was a soap he had been playing with.

"Good question," Sam said. "Definitely one to ask the soap makers if you…you know, ever tour the factory." He smirked faintly.

It was small talk. Stupid, redundant, but comfortable small talk. Part of Sam thought that Dean might be worried he would leave him now that he had Sarah. But that would never happen. Not after all they had been through.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sam offered quietly.

"'Course you are," Dean said. "You're gonna go over to Sarah's tonight. Or did you forget why we drove cross-country, you dumbass?"

Sam chuckled. "No, Dean. I mean…this. You know." He gestured between the two of them.

Dean pursed his lips and nodded briefly, curtly. He looked away. A key Dean gesture that meant Sam had hit it right on the money. "No, I know, Sam."

"I didn't pull you back from Hell for nothing," the younger one joked.

Dean snorted. It was obvious that he wanted to say something, but he was stopping himself. Instead of verbalizing how he felt, he paused, and then moved in on Sam and wrapped his arms around his him. Sam soon did the same. When they pulled apart, they both had a small grin on their faces.

But Dean quickly cleared his throat. In a slightly deeper voice than he usually used, he said, "Go get your chick."

Sam mimicked it, still grinning. "Yeah, man."

Dean snorted, amused. "Oh, Sam. No. Don't…don't do that again."

"Oh, what_ever_."

The older Winchester gave his brother's non-injured shoulder a playful shove. "Go on, get. I gave you an order, Sam."

"I'm going, I'm going. What about you, though?"

"Oh…" Dean smirked wickedly. "Don't worry about me. I'll find a way to keep myself busy."

There was a pause. Then, they said simultaneously, followed by laughter:

"Don't expect me home tonight."

. . .

Sam stood outside the door of Sarah's apartment.

Was this kind of nervousness normal? He couldn't remember.

He had been standing in front of her apartment for at least a minute and hadn't yet knocked. He wasn't quite sure what was stopping him. Maybe it was just the fact that he was actually _here_. He wasn't off on the other end of the country trying to kill a demon. He wasn't chasing after some malevolent spirit. He was here, trying to have a normal life again.

And that was a little awkward for him. But, it was kind of like riding a bike. He could get over the hump.

He knocked.

For a moment, it was quiet. And then from the other side of the door came Sarah's voice.

"Coming!"

When Sam saw her standing in the doorway, the first thing he did was smile. Sarah smiled back.

"Sam."

"Hey, Sarah."

He moved in then to wrap his arms around her in a hug. He kissed her softly.

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, "Come on in, hm?"

Sam, upon entering the living room, could tell that Sarah had tried to haphazardly clean up. She must have done it when she got his message. It made him laugh. Knowing that she was messy just like he was made him like her even more. She had tried to hide it, of course, but he knew. He didn't mind it in the slightest.

"My place is a mess," she confessed with a laugh.

"Mess is good, though. Means you're comfortable, right? I think that's what they say, anyway."

Sarah headed over to the kitchen and Sam followed. He rested his large form against one of the counter tops. Here she got them some sodas to share, and afterward they made their way to the balcony outside. It was a small little thing—not much bigger than maybe seven feet long by five feet wide. But it was enough to accommodate two nice, comfortable looking chairs and a small outdoor dining table.

Sam thought it looked awfully romantic, and that amused him.

"You know, this is like something out of a movie," he said when he sat down in the chair.

"I didn't plan for it that way, believe it or not," Sarah said. "This outdoor set was one of the first things I bought when I moved out of my parents' house. During the summer, on days like these, I like to eat outside and look over the balcony at what's going on down below. It's busy and bustling. I like it. Better than watching T.V."

Sam had to agree. There were very few meals that he didn't eat in a hotel or motel room, or in the impala. The last meal he had eaten at a table was at the bed and breakfast. And that…well. It had been a little weird. Especially with the way one of the dining employees kept looking at him. He shuddered at the thought.

He and Sarah sat outside for what felt like ever. After some more small talk to catch up, he told her about the entire situation with Lilith and how it had all gone. Then he told her about their coming back this way, mainly so that he could see her.

Sarah said, "Well, you sure know how to make a girl feel lucky."

As corny as it sounded, Sam wanted to reiterate that to her, but with different wording. He kept that thought to himself, however..

Sarah had decided that, since it had been so long since Sam had last enjoyed a home cooked meal, that the two of them were going to cook one together that night. Not being much of a chef, Sam ended up doing less than he was supposed to, but for the better of the meal. The two of them shared a nice, savory dinner on the balcony, with the setting sun and the gorgeously color-streaked sky.

They sat at the table for a while in silence, simply enjoying each other's company and the view down below. Sam's mind began to wander, mostly toward the future.

With hunting, he couldn't exactly live a normal life. But right now, in this moment, he could pretend like that wasn't hanging above his shoulders. Right now, he could enjoy the present and his time with Sarah. Who knew? Maybe later on from now, they could be together in every sense of the word. Maybe he wouldn't have to hunt anymore.

Thankfully, the future seemed a lot brighter. There was still a whole hell of a lot of evil in the world, but they had done a major dent in it by getting rid of Lilith. And that undoubtedly would send a message to the supernatural world: don't fuck with the Winchesters. Or more specifically, don't fuck with Sam. Pulling his brother from the jaws of Hell and then destroying one of the most evil forces the world had ever seen would be more than enough to give any demon pause when coming after him, or his brother.

Or, at least, he could hope for that.

Sarah's voice caught his attention and brought him back to the present. "So, Sam, we've got all the time in the world ahead of us. What do you wanna do?"

"Nothing," Sam replied simply, with a smile.

"Nothing?"

He leaned in across the table and kissed Sarah. "Yeah, nothing. I've done enough to last me a lifetime. Now I just wanna sit and do…nothing."

Sarah laughed. "If you say so."

Sam stared out over the horizon from the balcony. The sun had nearly set, and down below, numerous people bustled about in the streets with no clue of what could have befallen them.

_Yup, _he thought._ Doing nothing sounds really good right about now. _

It was a choice. One that he didn't hesitate to make.

It was funny. In all the past months, everything that had taken place was because of one simple choice Sam had made: the choice to bring his brother back. And now he was seeing the results. Dean was back, Lilith was dead, and he had Sarah sitting across him.

All because of that one choice.

Sam had nearly lost hope in himself after not having been able to save Dean. But that little sliver of it that remained, that faintest hint, _that_ had been what had gotten him through the very end. _That_ had been what led him to everything that he had now.

Things would never be perfect. But Sam had regained faith in himself, and in what he was doing. He had gotten his brother back. He had killed Lilith. He had Sarah. He had his powers. There were a lot of choices along the way. It was interesting to see how they all panned out in the end.

How they had all led him to where he was right then and there.

"Let's go inside," Sarah said, smiling faintly.

Sam turned his head back to look at her. "Yeah, let's go."


End file.
